


A Closetful of Dildos

by lifeisrandom34



Category: The Social Network (2010)
Genre: Explicit Language, F/M, Humor, M/M, Masturbation, Sexual Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-26
Updated: 2013-10-26
Packaged: 2017-12-30 14:00:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1019472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lifeisrandom34/pseuds/lifeisrandom34
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erica is oddly fascinated with the mysterious, and attractive, boy who just moved in next to her. Why does he come and go at such strange times? Who is he always having frantic midnight phone calls with? What’s up with his weird redheaded friend who won’t leave Erica alone? Most importantly, can Erica escape her overbearing older sister for long enough to help two idiots admit they’re in love and maybe have a life of her own at some point?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Closetful of Dildos

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a part of the 2013 tsnbigbang

Erica Albright was the victim of two of the best hardships known to man.  
  
The first: a caring and concerned older sister.  
  
It wasn’t so much that the fact that Cassie _was_ caring and concerned that was the problem as it was that Cassie’s concern tended to extend in one very particular direction. You see, Erica’s big sister, aside from her day job as an administrative assistant extraordinaire to a medical facility (i.e., an ER receptionist) by day, also worked at an, ahem, adult boutique aptly named Lucky’s by night. In her capacity as customer service representative to lovers great and… sometimes weird, Cassie had racked up a considerable amount of experience when it came to more clandestine endeavors, and she was always willing to swap stories.  
  
The problem was Erica didn’t exactly have a lot to share. Aside from some awkward teenage fumbling to get that pesky “virginity” business out of the way before her real life started, there just wasn’t much to tell. And now that real life was sort of starting, well, it just wasn’t really a priority.  
  
This was troublesome to Cassie. She was convinced that Erica was harboring some crippling self-esteem issues that prevented her from pursuing relationships (aren’t we all?) and the only solution was to send her vaguely obscene care packages procured with an employee discount. The result being that Erica had an extensive wardrobe of kitschy lingerie and no time, or motivation, with which to use it. This was primarily due to Erica’s second nonproblem: her almost officially grown up life.  
  
As a part of Boston University’s “prep for the harsh realities of veterinary medicine” program (it has a more official title but never let it be said that Erica Albright doesn’t know shock value when she sees it) she was living off campus for a semester, doing a paid internship at an animal clinic in Manhattan, to teach her how hard things would really be in the big bad world. It wasn’t great money, but it was enough to pay for a slightly respectable apartment in a not _too_ skeevy neighborhood that was close enough to Cassie’s place to occasionally do lunch. Which brings us back to…

  
"Are you telling me that there are seriously no viable sexual options _anywhere_ in your life? I mean, Jesus, how long has it been for you? You know your junk can grow back together if you don't use it often enough, right?"

  
Erica rolled her eyes and stabbed her fork into her salad. “I can’t believe they actually let you work in a hospital. You know that’s not even a little bit true, right?”  
  
Cassie shrugged. “Sure. It’s just a little something we pull out from time to time at work to make the sale. And, for the record, we see a shockingly low number of hymen related emergencies. But my point still stands. Is there seriously no one? Not even at the clinic?”  
  
“You mean Ina the 55 year old veterinarian or Todd the homosexual? Or maybe you were referring to Jessica, the 16 year old who volunteers sometimes? Any of those seem eligible?”  
  
They had had this discussion a lot since Erica had moved to New York. Well, in all honesty they’d had this discussion a lot since Erica hit 18 years old, but now that she was supposedly living in the “greatest city in the world” she was apparently expected to up her game. Thus far Cassie had proven unwilling to be discouraged.  
  
“Okay, maybe not at work. What about in your building?” she asked, like Erica hadn’t described all the residents in her apartment complex in excruciating detail fifteen times already. “Don’t look at me like that, someone could have moved in since the last time I asked.”  
  
“I don’t know” Erica groaned, “I don’t go door to door looking for eligible bachelors. I don’t really want to think about that stuff right now.”

  
“What do you mean?” Cassie was flashing big, concerned eyes over her club sandwich now.  
  
“I mean,” Erica sighed and stared down at her plate, “maybe _I’m_ not a sexually viable candidate right now. I need this internship to finish school. I can’t afford to get distracted.”  
  
Cassie snorted - actually honest to God snorted - at that one. The eye roll that accompanied it was almost impressive.  
  
“That’s such a cop out, Erica. Your entire future isn’t going to unravel because you spare fifteen minutes to give some lucky bastard a little lovin’. In fact,” she paused, pondering something for a moment, “if you ask nicely, he’d probably let you bring your textbooks along. Heads make great book rests, you know.”  
Erica had chosen the wrong moment to take a sip of water and spent the next few seconds sputtering in shock.  
  
“Christ, Cassie!” she finally managed to wheeze. “You can’t just start talking like that in public!”  
  
“Why not?” Cassie retorted. “You’re 21 years old, Erica, don’t tell me you’re embarrassed by a little cunnilingus.”  
  
“No,” Erica dropped her voice to a whisper, “but I think _that_ guy might be.”

She inclined her head toward an elderly gentleman seated at a table a few feet away from their booth, watching the two young women with a mixture of horror and possible interest.  
  
Cassie raised her devastatingly well groomed eyebrows pointedly at him. “Oh don’t give me that shit, old man, it’s not like we _invented_ it. Pleasure is an ancient art, even more ancient than you. Forgive us for indulging in a bit of history every so often. I’m sure you’re not exactly virginal yourself.”  
  
Cassie didn’t really “do” the whole “respect for your elders” thing. She operated on more of a system of earned respect and apparently eavesdroppers didn’t make the cut, no matter how loudly she’d been talking. The man blushed (Erica wasn’t sure she’d ever seen someone that old actually blush before) and started toying with the newspaper sitting neglected on his table, just to have something to look at that wasn’t Cassie’s disapproving glare. It tended to be influential.  
  
Erica rolled her eyes. “Are you sure that was entirely necessary?”  
  
Cassie shrugged nonchalantly, like she hadn’t just been lambasting an elderly person in a crowded café a few moments before.  
  
“Of course. My little sister’s vagina is no one’s business but mine. And, well, I guess yours, not that the poor thing would know it from the way you treat him.”  
  
“He? It’s a - oh my _God_.” Erica groaned and slid down in her seat. “Check please.”  
  
Erica trudged up the steps of her apartment after her eventful lunch, thoroughly “familied out” and more than ready to collapse into her couch for a romantic night of canine anatomy review and microwaved leftovers. She lived on the third floor so getting to her apartment was always a pain in the ass (literally), but she convinced herself that the super sexy calves she would have when all this was over would be worth it. Now, just three more steps and-   
  
“What the hell?”  
  
The hallway outside Erica’s apartment was full literally floor to ceiling with cardboard boxes. That wasn’t so unusual in and of itself - Erica knew firsthand how impossibly difficult it was to move in and out of an apartment. No, what caught her attention were the no less than five suits strewn throughout the boxes. _Five_ suits. Nice ones, clearly expensive and wrapped meticulously in plastic so the grimy hallway wouldn’t sully them. Not only that, but one of the boxes next to the stairwell was labeled “Black Dress Socks”. Just black dress socks. Who the hell needs and entire box just for their black dress socks? Erica was pretty sure her entire sock collection wouldn’t take up more than like a quarter of a box. At most. Who the hell was she going to wind up living next to?  
  
The entire mountainous scene was so bizarre and overwhelming that Erica almost didn’t notice the two guys fighting to the death to shove a couch through the doorway of her neighboring apartment. The boy on the right was blond and tall, with a nice button down shirt and dark jeans. He seemed to be doing most of the work, tugging at the end of an armrest, occasionally uttering grunting, guttural noises that might have been the beginnings of sentences.  
  
“No, Ward…Wardo it…No it doesn’t…I can’t…it won’t…”  
  
The other guy, a twiggy little thing with a messy mop of reddish hair didn’t seem to be contributing much to the effort besides clutching a foot of the couch halfheartedly and occasionally yelling out “PIVOT!” The grin that was spread across his face was way too wide for a person locked in a losing battle with a piece of furniture.  
  
“Dustin, that’s not actually helping,” a voice called from inside the apartment.  
  
“Laughter is the best medicine, bro,” the redhead replied, smile spreading even wider.  
  
“Do I look like I’m laughing?” Indeed, the voice did not sound particularly amused.  
  
“Whatever, dude,” the redhead shrugged, abandoning all pretense that he was doing anything to help hold the couch up and dropped his hands to his sides. “You know you love me anyway.”  
  
“Can we chat later?” the blond guy panted. “Couch.”

 

With renewed vigor, the blond guy tugged at his armrest. It was a battle royale and for a moment it looked like he might just be able to maneuver it through. But, alas, it was not to be. The couch ended up wedged tightly between the doorframe, suspended several feet above the ground.

 

“That’s it,” the blond guy exclaimed, throwing his hands up in frustration, “we officially suck at this.”

 

Erica couldn’t resist.

 

“If it makes you feel better,” she said,” I was totally rooting for you.”

 

Both guys spun in unison to look at her. The blond one blinked sheepishly, clearly ashamed to have had a stranger bearing witness to his moment of defeat. Redhead guy, on the other hand, looked delighted.

 

Blond guy cleared his throat.

 

“Uh. How long have you been standing there?”

 

Erica grinned. “That depends. How embarrassed do you want to be?”

 

He grimaced. “Yeah, maybe it would be better if we didn’t know.” He seemed to pull himself together, hastily raking a hand through his hair and striding toward Erica.

 

“Sorry about all this mess. We’re helping a friend of ours move in and our fourth pair of hands kind of…failed to show.”

 

“What’s going on?” the voice from inside the apartment came once again.

 

“Una chica,” the red head called back, absolutely cheesy grin in place.

 

Erica narrowed her eyes at him. “I go by Erica, actually,” she said coolly, extending her hand for the blond boy, obviously the manners of the operation, to shake. He was clearly trying to suppress an epic eye-roll at his friends’ behavior as he took her hand.

 

“Chris Hughes. Sorry about Dustin back there. He isn’t house trained yet. We’re working on it.”

Erica laughed at his polite frustration. She had a feeling He Who Was Called Dustin would be getting a firm talking to later.  
  
“Well lucky for you boys, I specialize in house training unruly animals. And,” she plunked her purse down on a box labeled - _Jesus_ \- “neck ties and pocket squares: formal” and presented her now free hands to the young man in front of her, “I happen to come equipped with hands. You look like you could use some help.”  
  
Chris and Dustin exchanged a skeptical glance, but the voice from inside yelled out: “Did she say she’d help? Send her in.”  
  
So the two shrugged and stood aside so she could scramble under the suspended couch into the apartment entryway. The first thing she noticed about her new mystery neighbor was his dress slacks. Seriously. Dress slacks. To move furniture in. _Really_. They even had a sharp crease running the length like he might have to dash off to an impromptu board meeting at any moment. Those kinds of pants meant business, Erica mused, pun totally intended.  
  
The second thing she noticed was the solution to the little couch problem they were having. The unruly sofa was hiding one of those pesky middle feet, placed in the dead center of the base, ostensibly for the purpose of provide support and stability, but in reality only serving to muddle any efforts to maneuver the damn thing through any doorway ever. Like she said, this wasn’t Erica’s first rodeo.  
  
“You’ll need to rotate it,” she called before she’d even stood up.  
  
“What?” Dress Slacks replied.  
  
“There’s a leg on the bottom you’ve got wedged up against the doorframe,” she explained, shimmying out from under the couch and taking hold of the armrest opposite Chris. “It’s gotta be turned clockwise then shoved through. Come on.”

It took a couple of tries, and a precarious few seconds in which Erica may have been the only person holding the stupid thing up at all, but eventually the couch was safely in place in her new neighbor’s living area.  
  
“Well, she’s worth more than Mark, anyway,” Dustin sighed, collapsing in a heap on the floor as if he’d put in any effort at all.  
  
Dress Slacks didn’t respond, turning instead to inspect his first ever house guest - or apartment-guest, as it were - and Erica finally got a good look at her new wall-mate’s face.  
  
And…oh. Well. It was quite a face.  
  
Not that Erica was all that easily impressed with pretty boys. She went to BU and everyone knew Boston was hipster boy Mecca (or maybe it just felt like that sometimes). She was surrounded by tragically attractive men with skin tight jeans and artfully arranged scarves and actual, honest to God _opinions_ about transcendentalist literature all specifically designed for quick and easy undergarment removal. So, naturally, Erica did her best not to find anyone that technically good looking appealing just out of pure spite (much to Cassie’s chagrin).  
  
But this guy was…um…something.  
  
“Hi,” a ridiculous grin split across his face, “I’m Eduardo Saverin.”  
  
“Erica,” Christ, what the hell was _that_? Something breathy and lilting had just spewed out of Erica’s mouth, but she didn’t recognize it as her voice. She cleared her throat. “Um, Erica Albright.”  
  
And, oh Lord, his eyes were definitely big and warm and dark and they definitely went all crinkly around the edges when his grin grew as he repeated her name. “Erica. That’s lovely. It’s nice to meet you, Erica.”  
  
And maybe the grin was sort of effervescently wonderful and that was sort of great and…well, Erica didn’t quite know what to do with all this information. Like at all. Chris caught a glimpse of her expression when Eduardo turned to go bring in some more of his belongings from the hallway.  
  
“Yeah,” Chris said, patting her shoulder. “He gets that a lot.”

  
****

  
After their initial encounter on move-in day, Erica didn’t see much of the mysterious (and okay, beautiful, but you didn’t hear that from her) Eduardo for a while. Her days were mostly occupied with 10 hour days at the clinic spent rinsing out kennels during play time and holding down distressed dogs as Ina stuck thermometers in places that were uncomfortable for all parties involved, followed by long nights of online quizzes and trying _not_ to be online at the same time as anyone she went to high school with. Most days she was lucky if she collapsed into bed by one, but it seemed like no matter when she came and went, or what ungodly hour she finally tumbled into unconsciousness, she never crossed paths with her new neighbor. He didn’t seem to spend a lot of time in his apartment for someone who had invested so much effort in getting his possessions into it.  
  
There were moments, during her study-induced haze, when she thought she could hear the sound of a running shower or a hushed phone conversation from the other side of the wall. It was never much, and certainly never at a normal time for those activities to be happening. Erica wasn’t entirely sure she was actually hearing anything. But the idea alone of an enigmatic business man with secretive, late night exploits was enough to pique her curiosity.  
  
Like his face hadn’t been _enough_ to do that.  
  
She did her best to convince herself that she was just doing her duty as a good neighbor. After all, if you’re going to reach out to someone, you should at least know a little something about them first, right? It made you look like you gave a damn about the world around you and it gave you something to talk about. At least, that’s what Erica told herself as she sat on her floor at 3:23 am on a Tuesday with her ear pressed to the heating vent that connected her apartment to Eduardo’s because she’d been sure she’d heard a voice coming from the other side.  
  
This totally doesn’t count as stalking.

  
Shut up, no it doesn’t.

  
“Mark, I feel like we’ve had this discussion a million times before.”  
  
Okay, _those_ were definitely words. Real words, not middle of the night caffeine/exhaustion hallucinations. Erica eyed the small mountain of redbull cans left over from her midterm cramming session with vindication. _I knew I wasn’t just imagining things._  
  
“Yes I…I know. Mark I _know_ that,” Eduardo sounded frazzled, “Mark I _know_ oh jesus - I ca…I told you I can’t…Because I have things to _do_ here, okay? I can’t just drop my entire life and fly out to California…”  
  
Erica pressed closer to the wall, choosing to ignore that this may very well be the creepiest thing that not only she, but in fact anyone had ever done. She had learned most of her most valuable lessons about life by listening to her sister’s sleepover conversations in middle school, so she wasn’t exactly having a moral crisis about the eavesdropping thing. Besides, what with all the clandestine comings and goings, who knew what Eduardo was really up to? He could be a mob boss or an anarchist plotting to overthrow the government or something. It was really Erica’s patriotic duty to find out more about him.  
  
Like what brand of conditioner he used, for example. And who the hell “Mark” was.  
  
“Look, man, it’s been a long fucking day, okay? I know you don’t believe in sleep but…yeah, I’ll call you tomorrow…I don’t know, Mark. We’ll talk about this some other time, yeah?...Yeah, go ahead, whatever you need…yeah man. Bye.”  
  
Erica felt a bump, like a head coming to rest against the wall, and heard a faint “ _Merda_.”  
  
Then there was silence from her neighbor’s apartment.   
  
****  
  
Now that she was paying attention, Erica noticed that Eduardo’s routine was fairly easy to predict as well, strange though it decidedly was. He woke up every morning around six - at least, she assumed he did. She was up by seven thirty every day, and he was always gone by then. He then left his apartment and did not return again until late, late into the night. One in the morning, at the earliest, but on a few occasions he got in as late as three. He would shuffle in quietly, likely trying (in vain) not to disturb Erica. Then there came the phone call.  
  
Understandably, the phone call was what interested Erica the most. It wasn’t so much the fact that a 20-something-year-old guy was making late night phone calls during the summer months. There could have been any number of reasons for doing that: a long-distance girlfriend, for example, or overly protective parents (he did have sort of an ‘innocent baby deer’ look to him. She wouldn’t have blamed any mother who would have feared for his safety in the Big Bad City). But what struck Erica as strange was that the calls came _every single night_ , regardless of what time Eduardo got home, that they all seemed to revolve around the same topic (the clandestine caller’s desire for Eduardo’s presence in California), and they were always from the same person. Mark.

As for who ‘Mark’ was, Erica never really found out. Eduardo wasn’t particularly vocal during these hushed, late night conversations, and what he _did_ say tended to be along the same vein as what she heard the first night: “I can’t, Mark,”, “No, not yet”, “Don’t worry about it, Mark, it’s fine,”. He never revealed anything substantive about himself _or_ Mark _or_ where the hell he disappeared to for 19 fucking hours a day. The only thing she knew was that he was always willing to take this call and that his voice seemed to get wearier and wearier every night.  
  
Erica often wondered if they were dating, Eduardo and the boy on the phone. Or, if they weren’t dating, if they wanted to be. Obviously she didn’t know Eduardo very well (or…at all, unless you count maneuvering a couch through a doorway quality bonding time), but she supposed his overall tone when speaking to Mark to be somewhat wistful. The poor guy was clearly exhausted; how could he not be (unless he left his apartment every day to go participate in a sleep study somewhere, but for some reason Erica highly doubted this was the case)? But there was something more to this situation than met the eye…or the eavesdropper’s ear. There was _something_ between Eduardo and this Mark character, even if it was something that pretty clearly didn’t work.  
  
The worst part was that Erica found herself actually growing quite concerned about Eduardo. What was he doing that required him to push himself so hard? And why would he continue to do it? She supposed that could have been related to Mark somehow too, but that seemed unlikely given that Mark’s whole purpose in life seemed to be convincing Eduardo that he was needed elsewhere. Erica just wanted to help, but she couldn’t think of a graceful way to lend him a hand without also revealing that she had memorized his weird-ass schedule and could hear everything he said through the walls. It’s not like there are hard and fast rules dictating these things, but still: Erica didn’t think they were “there” yet.

 

These are not the kind of thoughts that should be running through a bright young woman’s mind first thing on a lazy Sunday morning, but there you have it. She was lying in bed, watching the square of sunlight from her one window creep slowly across her bedspread, pondering ways in which to deal with her boy problem. Surely _this_ had never come up on any “Where Do You See Yourself in Ten Years?” questionnaire.

 

She wondered if Eduardo worked on Sundays. She wondered where he worked, period. She wondered where he was from and if she just imagined the slight accent that crept into his voice when it was very late and he sounded very tired. Her stomach growled into the empty silence of her bedroom. She wondered if she even had a breakfast food. She wondered if it was worth getting out of bed at all that day. It was her one day off, after all.

 

“Pathetic, Albright,” she whispered, hauling herself up. “Absolutely pathetic.”

 

In the end, it was the coffee that did it.

 

Some people would respond to accusations of addiction with denial or derision. Erica Albright was not one of these people. You didn’t get a stone’s throw away from med-school without learning about caffeine’s effects on the body and she was fully aware of just how much of her weekly grocery bill was dedicated to coffee and its associated paraphernalia. She knew she had a problem. She just also happened to know that she didn’t intend to do anything about it. Except maybe buy some more coffee.

 

Except that she hadn’t this week. With all the frantic days spent between long hours at the clinic and even longer hours spent reviewing notes and keeping a keen ear out for handsome men with apparent thousands to spend on a cell phone plan, she hadn’t had time to focus on such insignificant factors as nourishment. And coffee. Let’s be honest here, the coffee really should have been the top priority in all situations. Her life was spiraling out of control. She needed to ponder the possible solutions to this problem over coffee, and maybe something baked and coated in powdered sugar.

 

So she was definitely going out for…what time was it now? 11? Brunch, then. She was definitely going out for brunch. And, hell, as long as she was bothering to put on pants and actually leave her apartment…

_Fuck it_.

She found herself tapping politely on Eduardo’s door before she could talk herself out of it. A muffled call that sounded like “Just a moment please” came from inside and there was a long moment of interior shuffling in which Erica realized she had probably woken him up and was immediately wracked with horrible guilt. _Figures, the ONE TIME he actually gets to sleep I-_

 

“Dustin…No, dude it is like 8 am where you are, he couldn’t possibly have had that many red bulls already…what do you mean _hasn’t_ been to sleep yet? Don’t you have anyone checking on him?... _Yes_ I know he’s a grown-ass man, but he’s also not…actually…grown up at all. Look, Dustin there’s someone at the door hold on a sec.”

 

The door swung open to reveal a wrinkled, but decidedly dressed and not sleeping Eduardo Saverin. His hair was completely flattened on one side of his head and sticking straight up on the other, as though he’d fallen asleep with gel still in it. Which, Erica supposed, he probably had. That is, if he had actually slept at all. The poor guy looked almost comatose. He did his best to look happy to see her, though, bless him.

 

“Hi! Erica, right? From next door?”

 

Erica always got a bit of a happy thrill when someone actually remembered her name. Usually she had to be content to be known as “That nice Albright girl”, or “Cassie’s little sister”, or “Um. We had class together once, right?” But it was nice when a handsome, virtual stranger remembered who you were after only one meeting. Especially when that handsome, virtual stranger was looking at you like you were the most charming person on the planet (even if Erica did have it on good authority that that was one thing she most certainly was not). Who was she to argue with an adorably, crinkly-eyed smile? Who was she to say anything at all, in fact?

 

_Seriously. Erica you have to say something. Anything._

 

“Yeah. I saved you from your couch.”

 

It could have gone worse. She gave herself seven out of ten. Eduardo laughed. She bumped it up at a seven and a half.

 

“So you did,” he agreed, still smiling. “It was very heroic. Dustin’s written odes to your beauty and strength.”

 

Erica blushed at Eduardo’s use of the word “beauty” in relation to her, but he didn’t notice as the voice on the other end of the phone had started squawking again and he’d brought it back up to his ear.

 

“Hi, sorry…yes, I was talking about you…No, Dustin I don’t think you’re actually writing odes about anyone. Do you even know what an ode is?” he rolled his eyes for Erica’s benefit and mouthed _sorry_ in her direction. “Well, go ask Chris then, I am trying to have a conversation with Erica…the lovely woman who lives next door to me…the hot? - uh, yeah, that one…” he rolled his eyes again and covered the mouthpiece with his hand. “Dustin says hi,” he told her.

 

“Um. Hi?” she responded, starting to think coming to visit him was an even worse idea in practice than it was in theory.

 

Eduardo was making apologetic faces at her as Dustin’s tinny voice continued to prattle on through the phone.

 

“She says hi back…I am not going to tell her that…I am not going to ask her _that_! Jesus, Dustin!...You need to go to sleep…Yes, I know Chris is mad about everything, but that’s his problem. He was the one who wanted to go visit…I get it, Dustin, life is rough, but you gotta be tough, buddy. He needs you…yeah okay jackass. I’m gonna stop being rude to my neighbor now. Goodbye.”

 

He snapped his phone shut with a satisfying click and looked back up at Erica, smiling anew.

 

“I’m terribly sorry about that, Erica. Had a bit of a crisis to deal with, unfortunately. But, now my attention is all yours. How can I help you?”

 

****

 

To say that Eduardo was a little perplexed by Erica’s offer of breakfast (and coffee, she wasn’t forgetting that again) would have been an understatement. There had been a dangerous space between the time the words “I was wondering if you might like to go get something to eat with me. I forgot to buy coffee this week, and I hate going out by myself” came out of her mouth and the nearly _glorious_ smile of acceptance that crept across Eduardo’s face, during which she very seriously considered running away, changing her name, and starting a new life for herself in Mexico. Or Antarctica. There were animals there. She could deal with being an untrained penguin doctor, right?

 

She would have missed the bagels though, so at the end of the day she was glad she’d stuck it out. Watching Eduardo order food at a restaurant was worth any embarrassment it had taken to get him there.

 

“I can never decide what I want,” he confessed, looking stricken as he ran his fingers through his hair, making it stand up even more than it had earlier. “Everything just looks so _good_!”

 

Eduardo had such an unbridled, open enthusiasm about him. Erica didn’t know very many people like that, people who went into raptures about the variety of omelet fillings and available tea flavors. Eduardo, apparently, was one such person. He smiled at everyone they’d passed on their way to the little café a quick text to Cassie had revealed to be “the best brunch place in the whole City—I swear to God, Erica, you will want to marry the French toast”; he called the waiter by name (“Brad”), and he hadn’t complained about the stickiness of the cheap diner tabletop, even though he looked like the kind of person who could afford to be drinking mimosas at a country club every other weekend.

 

An entire box of black dress socks. What the hell was this guy doing in a quaint New York breakfast joint with Erica Albright?

 

“So,” Erica began after a few sips of coffee had helped her into a talking state of mind, “No fun Sunday plans then?”

 

Eduardo glanced up from the plate of eggs he looked to be ready to break into hymns over and shook his head.

 

“No, thank God. Sunday is the one day I force myself to take off. Well,” he paused, smiling, “it’s the day my mother forces me to take off. She’s worried I’m going to burn myself out, I think.”

 

_As well she should be_ , Erica thought. But out loud she just raised her eyebrows and replied,“Do you work a lot then?”

 

Eduardo shrugged. “I…uh, probably? I mean, okay that makes it sound like I don’t know how much I work. Let me try this again.”

 

He was sputtering awkwardly, blushing in a way that was confusing to Erica. This wasn’t the kind of question people usually got embarrassed about.

 

“Yes, I do work a lot. Or, at least, I try to. Mostly I ride the subway in wool suits and try not to be spit on by hobos.”

 

There was a story there. She filed that bit of information away to be asked about at a later date. For now, she was more concerned about the whole “mostly I ride the subway in wool suits” thing, and not because she was concerned about what NYC residue would do to the fabric he’d put such effort into protecting on move-in day. He was out of his apartment most of the time, but he wasn’t going anywhere in particular? What the hell did this guy do all day? More importantly, was he being cagey on purpose? Was she giving off some kind of untrustworthy vibe? She thought briefly of her nightly espionage and wondered if he knew just how freakishly interested she was in his life. A good spy really shouldn’t have been so transparent.

 

She attempted to sip her coffee casually. “That sounds exhilarating, actually,” she said, “I love a challenge. Have you considered investing in a business casual poncho?”

 

Erica was not expecting him to laugh. She certainly wasn’t expecting him to laugh so hard he choked on his eggs and had to down half a glass of orange juice to dislodge it. She considered asking him if he needed a doctor until she realized she probably was the closest thing to a doctor in the vicinity. So, she handed him a napkin instead. He accepted it as gracefully as possible given that he was recovering from a near-death experience.

 

“Thank you, dear.” Erica was sure she looked nowhere near that dainty when wiping orange juice off her face. “I gotta be honest; I haven’t laughed that hard in a long time.”

 

Erica totally did not blush at that.

 

“Well,” she shrugged, “I’m glad someone appreciates my relative lack of a grasp on social convention.”

 

Eduardo grinned. “Yeah, don’t worry about that. Lack of social grace doesn’t really bother me.” he assured her. “So, you should tell me about yourself. You are clearly funny. What else are you?”

 

Erica wondered if she had anything that could top “wanders the city by day, has clandestine phone conversations by night” that _wasn’t_ the sister who worked in a sex shop.

 

She didn’t. So she just opted for the truth.

 

“Um. Well. I’m a pre-vet student at BU. I’m in the city for a internship at a clinic. I, um, I like animals like, kind of a lot. I guess. I have a coffee addiction. Clearly. Um. I don’t know, I’m pretty boring.”

 

Eduardo shook his head.“Of course you’re not! You’re…training to be a doctor, for goodness sake! That’s…very impressive. More impressive than anything I’ve ever done.”

 

His expression was the textbook definition of “earnest” if Erica had ever seen it. It made her a little uncomfortable to have all that goodness directed at her.

 

“Oh yeah?” she challenged him. “Well what _is_ the most impressive thing you’ve done then?”

 

Eduardo got all blushy and sputtery about that, too. “Oh. I. Well, it’s not…all that impressive. But, last summer I, um, made some money…betting on oil futures,” he spoke as if that was shameful. “I like meteorology.”

 

“I thought you said it was oil futures?”

 

Eduardo nodded. “If you can predict the weather you can predict the price of oil. They…tend to correlate.”

 

“Huh. You learn something new every day. How much did you make?” Erica asked, aware that her mother would probably have scolded her for being rude. But, hey, the dude had a _lot_ of socks, okay? She wanted an explanation.

 

“Uh, well I…” he shifted uncomfortably.

 

“Oh no, I’m sorry,” she tried to backpedal, “you don’t have to tell me-“

 

“No, it’s fine-“

 

“Really, I was just curio-“

 

“$300,000.”

 

Well. That shut her up. Like, really, _really_ well. She momentarily forgot how to blink.

 

“Can you…stop staring at me like I’m someone important?” Eduardo fidgeted.

 

“Important?” Erica parroted, “You made $300,000 _in a summer_. I…forgot to buy coffee this week.”

 

Eduardo chuckled, seemingly relieved.“ That is true. But, I’m not one of those obnoxious, nouveaux-riche types. I promise I’m not. I’m planning to invest, a lot, actually. God only knows what I’ve gotten myself into. But, I don’t want to be one of those people who just accumulates money for the sake of having money. That’s not what wealth is for.”

 

He was clearly very passionate about this.

 

“That’s pretty big talk coming from a guy with an entire box of pocket squares: _Formal_ ,” Erica countered.

 

Eduardo’s face did something complicated in which it tried to look offended and delighted at the same time, which, okay, was pretty cute. It reminded Erica of a frustrated kitten. In fact, Eduardo’s whole aspect was vaguely baby animal-esque. Like a bunny, maybe, or a baby deer. Something from Bambi anyway.

 

“Excuse you!” he sputtered. “In the business world it is very important to - you know what, I don’t have to explain myself to you. I like clothes. Is that a crime?”

 

Erica shrugged enigmatically. “Not a _crime_ , per se, but a silk shirt on a Wednesday kinda screams ‘I vaycay in St. Barts’, you know what I mean?”

 

Eduardo eyed her for a moment, faint quirk of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth before leaning forward and pointing his fork at her emphatically.

  
“You,” he said seriously, “are sassier than you look. You come over to my apartment in your little beanie, throwing couches around and promising caffeine, but you have _opinions_. Tell you what,” he sat back and dug his wallet out of his pocket, “you can teach me all about how to be less of a douche, and I’ll pay for your breakfast. Brunch. Whatever. How does that sound?”

 

Erica felt herself smiling. “Well, it is the least you could do since you’ve just been flaunting your extreme wealth all over the place.”

 

Eduardo chuckled and shook his head. “I like you, Erica.”

 

****

 

“Yes, but what I’m saying is, how do you _know_ how many socks is too many?”

 

“I mean, the answer is different for everyone, obviously. But if it gets to the point where you have more black socks than there are days in a year, it’s probably time to admit you’ve got a problem.”

 

“Well, I’ll just have to defer to your judgment on that one.”

 

The best thing about going out in the middle of the day, Erica decided, was that is eliminated the whole “So, uh…do you want to come in for coffee?” thing. This was advantageous for two reasons. The first was that Erica, um, didn’t have any (obviously). Besides, they had literally just had breakfast. The second was that, to be honest, it hadn’t really felt like a date, in the best possible way.

 

Erica wasn’t great on dates. Erica wasn’t great with romance.

 

Okay, fine. Erica wasn’t great with _people_.

 

But this had been different. Eduardo wasn’t _people_. Eduardo was just a guy who got way too excited about eggs and didn’t understand how to dress informally and exuded a sweetness that was almost alien.  He stayed up to late at night and he got up too early and he thought Erica was funny, but he was smiling at the text message that had just popped up on his phone like it was dearer to him than life itself. Erica peeked over his shoulder. Just as she suspected: it was from Mark.

 

Well, you can’t win them all.

 

“Um,” Erica cleared her throat as the pair hovered outside of their respective apartment doors. “That was fun, even if you were embarrassingly enthusiastic about diner food.”

 

Eduardo grinned. “I will never apologize for my love of syrup,” he informed her. “And it was sort of fun. I’d kind of forgotten about fun, to be honest.”

 

“I mean, it was just brunch. But, if you ever get tired of doing whatever it is that wealthy, international businessmen do we could always…go again if you want?”

 

“Yeah,” Eduardo nodded, “we could.”

 

****

 

And they did.

 

Well, that was an over-simplification. What really happened was that Erica felt marginally more comfortable asking him to join her for brunch on subsequent Sundays since he happened to be free at that time and didn’t seem to mind. It became something of a tradition for the two of them.

 

Other than that not much changed. Erica still spent most of her free time memorizing the names of muscle groups and Eduardo still spent most of his free time wrangling a phone situation that seemed to be getting more complicated by the day. From what Erica could gather (and, yes, she was still listening. Just because she and Eduardo were buddies now didn’t mean he _wasn’t_ conducting an elaborate human trafficking operation over the phone. It was a long shot, but she wasn’t taking any chances) things in California were getting serious in a direction Eduardo wasn’t happy about. He kept saying things like:

 

“Why is he setting up meetings? I told you I’d take care of-“

 

And

 

“Mark, I’m telling you, we don’t need him.”

 

And

 

“What do you mean get left behind?”

 

If it hadn’t been for that last phrase these conversations would have thrown a wrench in Erica’s Eduardo-has-a-thing-for-the-unknown-Mark theory. But, the childlike fear that snuck into his voice, the faint accent (Portuguese, as he’d told her one Sunday. He was originally from Brazil) trickled in gave her pause. Eduardo was scared. Whoever Mark was and whatever relationship he and Eduardo were in, Eduardo was afraid of losing him. At least, that’s what it sounded like. Eduardo spent a lot of time trying to maintain his position.

 

He also spent a lot of time fielding calls from his other friends. These calls tended to sound more like: “Stephanie who? Isn’t she the girl from Mark’s Art History class? No, I’m not going to track her down and ask her if she’s interested in a long-term relationship! Have you ever even talked to her, Dustin?” Those moments gave her hope for the general trajectory of Eduardo’s life.

 

And, conveniently, Erica found that she enjoyed talking to Eduardo as much as she enjoyed listening to him talk to other people. He was interesting, despite being an economics major from Harvard (two traits that would have ordinarily sent Erica running for the hills). He had great stories about his childhood in São Paulo and about his parents: a mother who still spoke mainly Portuguese, despite being fluent in four languages, in order to make Eduardo feel more at home, and a father who had earned the illustrious rank of “The First Brazilian to Ever Care about Time Management” - a trait he had passed on to his son.

 

In fact, Erica soon noticed, Eduardo had sort of a _thing_ about timeliness. It wasn’t long before he started showing up outside her apartment at 10:45 sharp on Sunday morning, all dressed and ready for brunch. Erica was less than thrilled by this development.

 

“I don’t think you really grasp the spirit of the lazy Sunday brunch, dude,” she grumbled to him on one such occasion. “This isn’t one of your boring business engagements.”

 

Eduardo laughed and slung his arm loosely around her shoulder. “And you, Miss Albright, are just grumpy because I made you get out of bed before noon. Besides, I’m a perfectionist in all other areas of my life. Why not this, too?”

 

Well, at least he was honest with himself about it.

 

“Ugh,” Erica shoved his arm off playfully, “gross. Don’t call me ‘Miss Albright’, it’s Erica. And _Erica_ spent all day yesterday wrangling a puppy with an ear infection so _Erica_ is tired.”

 

Eduardo laughed again, loudly and with abandon, a move that earned him some glares from passers-by. New Yorkers, Erica had learned, disliked overt displays of joy and contentment. Such emotions were offensive to them. Erica felt good about making Eduardo laugh anyway. It was good for him.

 

“Oh god,” he wiped his eyes, “don’t talk about yourself in the third person. It makes you sound like Dustin. And trust me - you don’t want that.”

 

Erica perked up a bit at that. Eduardo so rarely talked about his other friends; she didn’t know how to broach the subject without making things real awkward real fast. She jumped on whatever chance she got to make him talk about his life outside the City.

 

“Oh yeah, how are, um…”

 

“Dustin and Chris? The guys you met? Um, they’re good, as far as I know. Still driving each other crazy, but what else is new? Oh - here we are! I’m thinking of getting the pancakes today, but you know how I feel about their hash browns…”

 

That’s how those conversations typically went.

 

Well, it was something new anyway.

 

****

 

She wasn’t sure whether she should be offended or not.

 

Look, by this point in her life, Erica was well aware of the fact that she wasn’t exactly what most people would call a “people person”, at least not in a way anyone could tell from looking at her. Actually, she had come to that realization at a fairly young age and had never bothered to reassess. She didn’t generally go out of her way to make conversation, she didn’t smile at strangers passing by on the sidewalk, and she considered a necessary phone call to be a fate worse than death. She was an introvert. It was fine.

 

But still, this was a little much.

 

It had been about a month since she had struck up a friendship with Eduardo when she started noticing the looks. It was subtle, at least at first. A sly glance from Todd when she came into the break room with a spring in her step, a fleeting smile from Ina when she started humming as she stocked pharmaceutical supplies, a quizzical stare from Jessica when Erica told her she liked her shoes. It wasn’t until Jessica all but cornered her one day that Erica realized that it had all been building up to something.

 

“Okay, what’s going on?” Jessica demanded, giving Erica an interrogative stare over the rims of a pair of thick rimmed glasses that Erica had always suspected she wore just for effect. They matched the “teen-angst book of the month” Jessica always had sitting on her desk. But now the teenage receptionist’s blue eyes seemed magnified tenfold through the lenses. Erica wasn’t sure what she had done wrong.

 

“I don’t…all I asked was if you’d gone to see the new Ryan Gosling movie. Should I…is that bad?”

 

_See, this right here is why I don’t talk to people more often._

 

“No,” Jessica said, “it’s not bad. It’s, like, friendly.”

 

“And you…object to that?”

 

“No!” the younger girl seemed stricken. “I just mean that you’ve never really been friendly to me before. And like, I was just wondering if you’re okay. You’re,” she lowered her voice, “you’re not on something, are you?”

 

Erica bit her bottom lip to keep her jaw from literally dropping in literal shock. Was she really that bad?

 

“Um. No. I’m not. I just-“

 

“Oh God, now I’m hurting your feelings! I’m so so sorry. I just,” Jessica hauled in a steadying sigh, reorienting herself. “You seem happier.”

 

Oh. Well. That wasn’t so bad.

 

Todd’s laughter emanated from the back room where he was sorting various vials of immunizations, or whatever it was veterinary assistants did.

 

“Way to be delicate, Jess,” he chided gently.

 

Jessica threw her hands up in frustration. “Like you could have done any better! Look:” she turned back to Erica, “We’re all super happy that you’re talking more and stuff. It’s awesome. And, honestly, I was a little scared of you before. But, you smile all the time now and so I’m kinda over it. Anyway, we were just all sort of wondering…what’s up with that?”

 

And really, what _was_ up with that? She hadn’t even noticed the difference in herself, but if there _was_ one, there could only be one source.

 

“Well…” she began hesitantly. She normally refrained from talking about her personal life at work too much. It didn’t seem to be appropriate.

 

But Jessica apparently didn’t care, as she stepped even closer to Erica (it was getting a bit uncomfortable now) and lowered her voice.

 

“Is it a guy?” she asked conspiratorially.

 

Erica hesitated. “Um.”

 

Was it? Well, okay, obviously Eduardo was a male person and her recent change in behavior could most definitely be traced back to him. But, Erica’s relationship with him was definitely not of the nature that Jessica was hinting at. Definitely not yet, anyway. And, well, there was Mark. Mark had to be something to Eduardo, even if Erica didn’t know exactly what. In any case, Eduardo didn’t seem especially interested in her in _that_ way, even if he was affable and they did have fun together.

 

Jessica took Erica’s silence as assent and squealed – actually squealed – in a way she would probably have rather died than admitted to outside the present company. She even started bouncing on the balls of her feet.

 

“Oh my gosh, I totally called it!” She crowed, grabbing Erica by the arm and dragging her across the room, all but shoving her into a sitting position on top of the reception desk before Jessica herself took a seat in her office chair, fingers steepled in front of her, therapist style. “You have to tell me about him.”

 

This encounter had already been more casual workplace conversation than Erica had had in months. She wasn’t sure what the proper protocol was anymore.

 

“Well, it’s not really-“

 

“Please, Erica?” Jessica pouted in a way Cassie probably would have approved of, her big blue eyes even bigger and bluer through her quirky glasses. Someone knew how to get what they wanted. Erica bit her lip.

 

“Um. Okay. But, I mean, he’s not like…we’re not dating or anything. He’s just my friend.”

 

Jessica shrugged, unconcerned. “Who cares? We’re bonding. Besides, I’ve been _totally_ starved for girl-talk around here.”

 

“Hey! I heard that!” Todd called from the other room, faux-offended.

 

“Off-brand girl talk doesn’t count, Todd,” Jessica retorted, rolling her eyes. “Now shut up. I want to hear about the magical boy who can make Erica smile.”

 

That turn of phrase struck Erica as very sweet and very sad at the same time. Was she _really_ that unapproachable? She supposed she probably was. She had always viewed this internship as a means to an end, another necessary step on the way to veterinary school, much like the flashcards she spent hours making every night. She liked the hands-on experience with the animals, but the co-workers had just been accessory: set pieces in the background.

 

But, they weren’t set pieces and they weren’t flashcards. They were people who had been waiting for her to actually notice them, to strike up a friendship. The way Jessica was intently watching her certainly lent some credibility to that theory. Really, what harm could it be to humor her? It wasn’t like Erica’s words would leave the clinic. There wasn’t even anyone in the waiting room.

 

“Well,” Erica began, “He’s my next door neighbor and his name’s Eduardo.”

 

“Oooo, exotic. I like him already,” muttered Todd, who had appeared in the doorway to listen to Erica’s story. Jessica shushed him and motioned to Erica to continue.

 

“Yeah. And he, um, he moved in like a month ago. I helped him get his couch through the doorway because apparently they don’t teach you how to do that at Harvard.”

 

Jessica and Todd both raised their eyebrows at the word “Harvard” but neither interrupted, so Erica pressed on.

 

“And when I first met him he was dressed like a Dockers commercial—to move furniture in, mind you. And the hallway was just full of these suits all wrapped up in plastic. Nice suits, too, like designer ones. So there’s this ridiculously well-dressed dude moving in to my shitty apartment complex like that’s not a weird thing at all.”

 

“Maybe he’s a South American prince in disguise,” Jessica suggested, starry-eyed.

 

“Maybe he’s a hooker,” Todd countered. “An expensive one.”

 

Erica didn’t know how to respond to either alternative. For all she knew one or both could be true. She shrugged instead.

 

“Your guess is as good as mine. Anyway, I asked him out for coffee a few weeks ago,” she thought it was best not to mention the whole ‘listening through the walls’ thing, “and it turns out he’s really nice and we’ve been sort of hanging out ever since. He’s…kinda the first friend I’ve made since moving to the city.”

 

Jessica and Todd exchanged a glance that seemed to say _Gee, if only there was someone else available for her to befriend_ and Erica tried her very hardest not to feel like the worst person alive. Then, Todd leaned forward, a veritable twinkle in his eye.

 

“Yeah,” he said, “but what’s he look like?”

 

Erica could feel the blood rush to her cheeks. This, of course, was the topic she was trying to avoid. It was hard to sell the “just friends” line when you were trying to pass the Brazilian Bombshell off as the Boy Next Door. Though, in her defense, that’s what he was. Sweet enough to win over the grandmothers, handsome enough to win over everyone else, that was Eduardo for you. Erica took a deep breath.

 

“Well, uh, pretty good-looking, I guess. I mean, I don’t guess, I know. He’s…got this…tall, thin, tanned thing going on and when he’s tired you can hear this hint of a Brazilian accent, which is…yeah. Nice. And his hair is great, there’s no two ways about it. He always wears shirts that are like two sizes too big for him, though, not sure what’s up with…” Erica let her voice trail off as she realized that Jessica and Todd were no longer nodding along with her, but were, in fact, both looking at something behind Erica’s shoulder. She turned to see what they were both staring at in such a puzzled manner and found herself locking eyes with her own older sister, standing inexplicably in a veterinary clinic waiting room despite the fact that she neither owned, nor liked, any animals.

 

“Cassie?”

 

The older woman blinked a few times, the gears in her head spinning. Cassie’s expression was shell-shocked, for now, but the beginning of a smile was tugging on the edges of her lips as though something _delicious_ was dawning on her.

 

“Hi,” Cassie’s voice was weirdly formal. “I was just…in between shifts and I thought I’d stop by and see if you wanted to go get something to eat. But, it looks like I’ve interrupted something.”

 

“How long have you been standing there?” Erica demanded. She leaped down from her perch on the desktop, her hands fluttering uselessly by her sides. She was sure she had some disaster to avert here, she just wasn’t sure what or how yet.

 

“Long enough to hear that you’ve been holding out on me,” Cassie’s smile was ecstatic now, like a kid in a candy store, only far more sinister.

 

“I haven’t been- “ Erica groaned, really not wanting to hash out her family drama in front of Jessica and Todd. Honestly. This was why she didn’t have more friends. “Look, do you want to go to lunch? I’m not doing this here.”

 

“Actually,” Cassie’s grin was downright wicked, “I just remembered I have some shopping to get done.” She all but skipped toward the door.

 

“Well, do you want me to call you later or something? What’s happening right now?” Erica demanded before her ridiculous excuse for a sister could happy-dance her way out the door.

 

“Oh don’t worry,” Cassie paused dramatically in the doorway, “you’ll hear from me.” Then, with a giggle, she was gone.

 

There was silence in the waiting room for what felt like hours to Erica. She was furiously trying to think of a way to explain away her sister’s behavior that wasn’t “Oh don’t mind her! She’s just really obsessed with my nonexistent sex life! Siblings, am I right?” There was no way her co-workers would want to talk to her again after that. Crazy runs in families, after all.

 

In the end she was saved by Ina, the tall, commanding gray-haired vet who chose that moment to emerge from the surgery in search of her wayward staff.

 

“You know, I was sure I had three paid employees hanging around here somewhere, yet there doesn’t seem to be any work being done. And who is making all that racket in my waiting room?”

 

“Erica!” Todd and Jessica replied in unison.

 

“Erica?” Ina’s eyes, as gray as her hair, lit upon Erica, blushing and trembling, and, to Erica’s astonishment, she smiled.

 

“Well it’s about damn time. Welcome to the team, Ms. Albright. Now, if you three are done out here I have a cat to declaw back here and I need someone to hold him down.”

 

Erica followed her boss in relief, back to the operating room where everything actually made sense.

 

***

 

By the time Erica got home from work there was already a package waiting in her mailbox. It was plain black, just like all the others, with no return address. Actually, the box bore no writing at all save a generic white mailing label with Erica’s name and address printed on it in Times New Roman. From the outside there was no way to tell who the package was from or what it contained. But, Erica had received enough unmarked black packages in her time to know a Lucky’s gift box when she saw one.

 

At least this time the box was small enough to fit into her mailbox so she didn’t have to pick it up at the front desk. Erica was pretty sure her landlord thought she was an undercover government agent or a drug dealer or something. Actually, she didn’t mind that so much. It made her feel sort of cool. Cooler than a closetful of unused dildos did, anyway.

 

_Closetful of Dildos would be a great name for a band_ , Erica thought as she ripped through the tape on the box. Inside was the layer of ever-present black tissue paper Lucky’s employees wrapped package contents in, just in case an intruder was curious enough to tear the box itself open, but too lazy to go further than that. Under the tissue paper was a smaller, totally discreet, neon-pink box decorated with grammatically incorrect French phrases (Erica was no expert, but she was pretty sure _C’est la-la_ wasn’t a thing) and the words “NOVELTY PERSONAL MASSAGER: NEW EIFFEL TOWER SHAPE” emblazoned on the top in curly-cue script and a slim book of what Erica guessed to be poetry, but she couldn’t tell because the title was in Spanish. Apparently Cassie had decided to go with an international theme for this care package. How nice.

 

There was a note tucked into the book like a bookmark, unusual for one of Cassie’s gifts. Cassie usually sent Erica the tools she needed for the quest at hand and left Erica to “figure it out on your own, my young apprentice.” But instead of Jedi mind powers Erica got a book of poems she couldn’t even read and something vibrating and vaguely French. Her big sister was no Yoda, that was for damn sure.

 

But, for the time being, Cassie was all Erica had so she pulled the note out from between the pages of poetry and unfolded it. It read:

 

_Erica,_

_I’m so happy you finally found someone to catch your eye! I was beginning to worry about you; but it turns out you’re a real girl after all! Yay for Erica!_

_So, in celebration of this momentous event, and in honor of your forthcoming birthday (which I bet you totally forgot about, you crazy workaholic) I decided to send you a little something to help you on your quest to woo your Latin Loverboy. The poetry is by Pablo Neruda and they are some of the most famous love poems of all time, so don’t get all mad at me for sending you “smut”. I even got the book at a legitimate bookstore. Aren’t you proud? Maybe you could invite your new friend over to help you do some translating?_

_And the vibrator is just to keep you company until you actually work up the nerve to ask him._

_Good luck, my beautiful sister!_

_Cassie_

_P.s. Yes, I realize that Portuguese and Spanish are not the same language, but this is the best I could do on such short notice. Plus, come on, it’s Neruda. Everyone loves Neruda._

 

Erica sighed, setting the book down on her coffee table and leaving the vibrator in the Lucky’s box on the table in her entryway. Why was it always like this? Just once she wanted to have a conversation with her sister that didn’t go back to how much sex she was, or rather _was not_ , having. Just once she wanted to talk about the weather or work or local sports scores or literally fucking _anything_ other than what went into her vagina. Was that really so much to ask?

 

It wasn’t that Erica didn’t appreciate Cassie’s gifts. The older woman clearly put a lot of thought and effort into getting Erica laid, which was generous (albeit, in a way siblings usually are not generous). But the fact of the matter was that Erica really wasn’t terribly interested in sex at the moment, at least not extemporaneous sex. But she had always been taught that it was rude to turn down gifts. You were supposed to be grateful for what you were given. So, Erica kept the skimpy costumes, and the matching bra and panty sets, and the various accessories made for people far more adventurous than her. And she accepted more as they came in. And she would keep the book of love poems sitting on her coffee table, even if she would presumably never get a chance to read it.

 

****

  
Erica’s birthday started with the incessant buzzing of her phone at 4 am. Blearily she groped around the bedside table and attempted to make out the words on the screen despite the glare in the darkness. It was the hospital. Erica bolted upright and slapped the phone up to her ear.  
  
“Hello?”

  
“Erica?” It was Cassie, sounding decidedly neither mortally wounded nor suddenly stricken with life threatening disease, but instead sounding somehow…gleeful? “He’s here. At the hospital.”  
  
“Who’s there? The president? A shirtless Hugh Jackman? Jesus?”  
  
“No, what - Jesus? We’re Jewish. I would not be calling you at 4 am to make you question your faith. That’s like…6 am shit _at least_.”  
  
“Then why _are_ you calling, Cassie?”  
  
“Because your Latin Loverboy just stumbled in through my doors,” Cassie seemed more than slightly amused, but Erica’s spine stiffened nonetheless.  
  
“Eduardo? He’s at the hospital? Why?”  
  
“Oh he got into a little argument with a minivan leaving his office building apparently. Just walked right the fuck out in front of it. Don’t worry, it was just pulling away from the curb. No damage a few Hello Kitty band-aids can’t fix.”   
  
Now she _definitely_ sounded amused. Erica, however, was not.  
  
“Well, what the hell are you calling me for then? It’s the middle of the damn night!” she exclaimed, flopping backwards.  
  
“First of all, why don’t you shelf the attitude, Sleeping Beauty, because I’m working the graveyard shift and I’m pretty sure having to mop up old lady vomit trumps an early morning phone call. Although the view has improved considerably, I mean- ” Cassie’s voice lowered, “Hot _damn_ Erica, just watching him talk is like making love.”  
  
Erica…well, didn’t know quite what to do with that tidbit other than to make a vague, sputter-choking noise, then wisely retort: “Don’t you have a job to do? Something less horrifying than this?”  
  
Cassie laughed delightedly. “Relax, sweetie, these urges you’re feeling are totally normal for girls your age!”  
  
“Cassie!”

“All right, fine! Jesus. As it just so happens, I do have an official reason for waking you up. Eduardo has you listed as his emergency contact. Right under some guy named Chris, who didn’t answer.”  
  
This information sat in Erica’s mind for a moment before she could do anything with it. When had this happened? She certainly didn’t remember ever being asked to be his go to gal in emergency situations. But they were neighbors, and they were friendly. Especially with all his other friends and family all the way across the country, Erica was definitely Eduardo’s best shot at getting home safely.  
  
She sighed and slung her legs over the side of the bed, regretting the loss of the comfy blankets immediately.  
  
“All right. What does this require of me?” she asked.  
  
“Well, you need to come get him, first of all. Drive him home,” Cassie replied.  
  
“And?” Erica shrugged into her coat, not bothering to change into real clothes first.  
  
“And…he might have a mild concussion. A really mild one, mind you, but still…”  
  
Erica stopped dead in her tracks on the way out the door.

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”  
  
“I’m saying this could be a hell of a birthday for you, kiddo.”  
  
****  
  
Cassie hadn’t been lying about the band-aids.  
  
“ _Please_ tell me you picked that out yourself.”  
  
Eduardo was sitting, somewhat sheepishly, in one of the hard plastic chairs in the emergency room waiting room, bright pink bandage strapped across his forehead like a bike reflector. The room was more or less deserted (with the exception of Cassie, of course, who was not even attempting to hide the fact that she was both staring and grinning like the smug little shit Erica knew her to be) but Eduardo seemed to be doing his very best to be as small as possible.  
  
“Oh!” He looked up at Erica’s approach, pale and washed out in the fluorescent lighting, but blushing nonetheless. “Oh, no, it’s…I guess it’s all they had. I guess.”  
  
She smiled in what she hoped was a reassuring manner, choosing not to point out that the chance of a hospital being completely out of any bandage not bespangled with cartoon kittens was significantly lower than that of a predominantly female nursing staff who enjoyed teasing adorable young men.

“Well, hey, it suits you. Really brings out your, you know, stuff,” she gestured vaguely at…all of him.  
  
He smiled slightly. “Gee thanks. As long as my stuff looks good, I suppose.” he made a move to stand. Erica pressed him back down into the chair, pulling her hand away guiltily when he winced.

  
“Hold oh, I have to go check you out at the desk first. You might as well sit as long as you can.”

 

“Wait,” Eduardo grabbed her arm. “I don’t know if you should go over there. The girl at the desk has been smiling at me for the past twenty minutes like she knows something I don’t. It’s kind of freaking me out.”

 

“Yeah,” Erica sighed, “I know she has. She’s my sister.”

 

“Your - oh,” Eduardo sat up straighter, embarrassed. “Your sister. That’s…that’s lovely.”

 

Erica roller her eyes. “Relax, Saverin. Fear is a very appropriate response to Cassandra Albright.”

 

She pried his fingers gently off of her arm and strode over to the front desk, doing her best to let her older sister know nonverbally just how unimpressed she was with Cassie’s behavior. Cassie didn’t seem fazed in the least. It wasn’t the first time she’d been on the receiving end of this glare, after all.

 

“So,” Cassie drawled, holding out a clipboard with forms attached to it for Erica to sign, “Best birthday present ever or what?”

 

“Are you referring to the opportunity to drive to a hospital at four in the morning or the sister who set the land-speed record in scaring off the only person in all of New York who will actually talk to me other than her? You’re right. I’m the luckiest girl in the world.” Erica didn’t really care about sparing anyone’s feelings at that point.

 

“No,” Cassie admonished. “The concussed sex god, genius,” she peered around Erica to gape at Eduardo again. “Ugh. If you don’t hit that I’m never speaking to you again. Just look at his _shoes_ \- he’s got some daddy issues, that one.”

 

“Don’t.” Erica slammed the clipboard down with a little more force than she meant to. “He’s not ‘that one,’ he’s Eduardo. And he’s a fucking person, Cassie.”

 

“All right, fine! Jesus,” Cassie curled her lip at her killjoy little sister. “Well, Eduardo there is gonna need to be watched for at least the next few hours. After that he should be fine to sleep on his own as long as he sets an alarm clock to go off every hour. Just in case. In the meantime,” Cassie grinned lasciviously, “entertain him.”

 

This was going to be a very long morning.

 

****

 

“You know, this is the first time I’ve ever been to your place,” Eduardo commented as he took in the sight of Erica’s lackluster apartment. “It…looks pretty much like mine.”

 

Erica forced a halfhearted chuckle, trying her best to look more like a person who had people over to her apartment all the time and less like a person who was currently hyper-aware of all her limbs in a way that was incredibly distracting.

 

“Yeah, it’s, um, not much, but it works. You can go ahead and make yourself at home.”

 

That’s what people said to guests, right? It felt a little ridiculous coming out, as Eduardo’s actual home was about twelve feet to his left, but she felt awkward with him just standing there. Entertaining must be easier when the person is seated. Besides, he had a concussion.

 

_Dammit, Cassie, I’m a med student, not a functional human being!_

 

“Do you want anything to drink?” she asked, because if memory served her correctly that was the next line in the “hostess” script she was working off of.

 

“Uhhh, sure,” Eduardo smiled politely up at her from his perch on the futon. “That would be great. Just water is fine.”

 

“Great, I’ll go get it,” Erica was grateful for the excuse to leave the room.

 

Why was this so difficult? It was just Eduardo. Erica didn’t have issues with Eduardo; they were friends. She was his emergency contact, for fuck’s sake. Surely they were past the awkward phase.

 

So why could Erica still hear Cassie’s words flitting around in the back of her mind? _Entertain him, Erica_. Was that what he was expecting? Erica wanted to vomit. This was not her specialty. How did one even go about seducing a handsome, well-dressed business type? She couldn’t even manage a passing flirtation with the average dude-bro in cargo shorts. She couldn’t approach Eduardo like that. What was she supposed to do, bring him a glass of water and demand that he return her kindness in the form of sexual favors, porn-style? Is that what her life had come to?

 

_Jesus_. She gripped the kitchen counter and tried to take some steadying breaths. _Just bring the man his water and be a normal human for once_. She was _not_ going to let her sister’s words ruin a perfectly good friendship, especially when Eduardo had never even expressed that kind of interest in her. In fact, given the length and frequency with which he spoke to whomever the hell Mark was, Erica wasn’t even sure Eduardo was available for her perusal at all. Not that any of that mattered at the moment, because she was not going to make a move on a concussed friend.

 

She _wasn’t._

 

When Erica re-entered the living room, water glasses in hand (but just as a friend), Eduardo was flipping through the thin volume of poetry that Erica had left on her coffee table.

 

“Do you speak Spanish?” he asked, nodding his head in thanks as she set the water down in front of him.

 

Erica shook her head. “No. That was just a joke gift from my sister.”

 

_Yes, a “gift”, just a gift_. This was playing into Cassie’s hands more than even she could probably have hoped. Something was twisting in the pit of her stomach. What to do? For that matter, what exactly was an acceptable distance to keep between oneself and one’s friend while seated on a futon? For the moment, Erica was still standing awkwardly on the other side of the coffee table, eyeing the futon like it was a declaration of war. She didn’t want to sit too close to Eduardo and give off a weirdly intimate vibe, but she also didn’t want to sit too far away and make it look like she was uncomfortable around him, even if she was sort of uncomfortable at the moment. He was staring at her expectantly. Why the hell were the politics of futon-sitting so complicated?

 

She plopped down right where she stood, on the side of the coffee-table opposite Eduardo like she was at a Japanese restaurant. Eduardo lifted his eyebrows in amusement, but didn’t comment. He went back to thumbing through the book on his lap.

 

“Some gift from a sister,” he muttered as he scanned a few of the lines.

Erica picked up her water glass just to have something to do with her hands.

 

“Why do you say that? Can you read it?”

 

“Well I had to take Spanish to graduate from high school, just like everyone else, so yes,” he glanced up from the page and winked - _wouldn’t life be so much easier if attractive men would stop doing that? Maybe I should start a petition_ \- “But, of course it might have been a little easier for me than it was for everyone else. Yeah, I can probably muddle through it.”

 

The smug bastard, flaunting his first-hand knowledge of romance languages, who did he think he was?

 

Eduardo picked a page at random and began to read:

“ _Tiembla en la noche humeda mi vestido de besos_

_locamente cargado de electricas gestiones,_

_de modo heroico dividido en suenos_

_y embriagadoras rosas practicandose en mi._

 

Oh my, that’s—your sister sent you this?”

 

But Erica didn’t reply. She…sort of…couldn’t. Something very odd was happening. Her heart was either beating very fast or wasn’t beating at all, and she couldn’t feel any of her extremities, and she wasn’t entirely sure what words were or how to form them, but she knew that there was _something_ coming out of Eduardo’s mouth. Something that was making her throat very dry and-

 

_Fuck._

 

No. No, this…this was not her. This was not an Erica Albright approved response to a Portuguese accent spilling out of the very shapely lips of a very handsome man. This was not an acceptable response to _anything_. Especially not a friend. _Oh God!_

 

Somewhere, far off in the distance, was Erica’s awareness that this was fully and irrefutably Cassie’s fault. If she hadn’t sent those stupid poems, Erica wouldn’t be sitting here on her living room floor being, what, _turned on_ by her neighbor’s native accent? This was the last time she left anything from Cassie sitting out where innocent Brazilians could stumble upon it.  

 

Eduardo looked very concerned, as if Erica was the one who was concussed and not him. He held the book up. “You…know these are basically all about sex, right?”

 

_Please don’t say that word._

 

Erica banged her glass back onto the coffee table with more force than necessary, just to prove to herself that she was still in control of at least _some_ of her faculties.

 

“Yeah,” she said, her tone totally missing casual, but hitting (she hoped) outrage and not oh-my-god-I-want-to-fling-myself-at-you. “That sounds like Cassie.”

 

Eduardo shook his head in disbelief. “Does your sister…send you porn often, or…?”

 

_Don’t look at the closet. Whatever you do, DO NOT LOOK AT THE CLOSET_.

 

“Umm,” Erica began, but she was interrupted by the sound of Eduardo’s ringtone shrieking.

 

He sprang up instantly, digging it out of his pocket.

 

“Oh, it’s Mark,” he said to Erica apologetically. “I have to take this. I’m so sorry. Thank you for your hospitality, and for the ride home. Really, you’re the best. But, this could take a while. I’ll catch up with you tomorrow, yeah?”

 

Erica nodded, hoping the sheer relief running through her wasn’t evident on her face. “Yeah. Just, if you fall asleep, remember: alarm. Once an hour.”

Eduardo grinned. “You’re the doctor!”

 

Then he turned and scurried out of the apartment, slapping his phone up to his ear on the way out the door, leaving Erica in bewildered silence.

 

Just what the ever-loving fuck had just happened?

 

****

The ghost of Eduardo’s voice stayed lurking in Erica’s head all day, flaring up in every lull of conversation or break in concentration. She tried to shake it off, focusing extra hard at work, volunteering to run errands, devoting herself to menial jobs like scrubbing kennels and mopping floors just to have something to do with her jittery energy. Unfortunately, it was a slow day and all the physical labor left her brain with plenty of time to play with the memory of Eduardo’s mouth curving around the r’s and teasing the s’s into a frenzy. By the time she finally got home, Erica was nearly in a frenzy herself.  
  
She threw herself down on the couch in protest against her hormones.  
  
“I’m not a ridiculous teenager anymore,” she informed her water-stained ceiling resolutely. “I don’t have to stand for this.”  
  
The ceiling didn’t reply, but it seemed skeptical.  
  
“I don’t!” she retorted.  
  
Deciding that she would probably sound more convincing if she were doing something other than arguing with her ceiling, Erica begrudgingly peeled herself off of the futon. She would do something totally mature, and adult-like and not at all governed by the chemicals in her body that were urging her every cell to barge into her neighbor’s apartment and demand to know what a Portuguese accent sounds like panting feverish kisses into her mouth.  
  
Oh God. Anything but that.  
  
She tried folding her laundry, then refolding her laundry. Then reorganizing her considerable lingerie collection (by color, this time, instead of occupation). She started the shower, changed her mind, restarted the shower, shaved one leg, got back out and finally settled on wandering throughout the apartment in a bathrobe wringing her hands because _nothing was working_. No matter what she tried, there Eduardo was, grinning shyly over the top of the book while his tongue curled sinfully around phrases of throbbing Spanish ardor. The bastard.

 

_You cannot have a ludicrous schoolgirl crush on your possibly/likely gay next door neighbor’s VOICE, of all things_ , _Erica Ruth Albright_! She scolded herself after 10 minutes of fruitless pacing. She wondered offhand if there might be something seriously wrong with her. Maybe she was sick. That would explain the way her heart was staging a jailbreak from behind her ribs, right? She felt her forehead. It was cool, albeit damp from her half-shower earlier.

 

_There must be a way to fix this_ , she mused, doing her best to avoid the thought of an Eiffel Tower figurine in a little pink box. No way was she going to use this silly encounter with Eduardo as an excuse to break in her new toy. Especially since that was just what Cassie had intended and Erica took such joy in proving her sister wrong. She would just…find something else.

 

Just as she was literally about to google “how to rid oneself of sexual impulses” Erica was startled by the sound of a door slamming and Eduardo’s voice drifting through the vents. With a jolt she realized from the cadence that he was speaking Portuguese.

 

With that fucking accent.

 

That _bastard_.

    

She didn’t even know what he was saying, for Pete’s sake. He could have been talking to his mother about dying relatives or setting up an appointment for a colonoscopy with a doctor who only catered to incredibly decent, Bambi-eyed, but unfortunately handsome Brazilian twenty-somethings for all she knew. Sure, Eduardo was still _objectively_ the sexiest person Erica knew. But that was more of a technicality than anything else. _She didn’t want him like that_. But did that stop the smooth, even flow of his voice from filling Erica’s limbs with the same tingling as before?

 

Of-fucking-course not.

 

She eyed the package from her sister warily. It was still sitting on the end table. Erica crept toward it cautiously, as though it was a bomb. Gingerly she lifted the small pink box and emptied the vibrator into her hand. It only vaguely resembled the Eiffel Tower. Honestly, it looked more like a misshapen rocket ship wearing fishnet stockings, but Erica supposed that, when it came to sexual aids, it was the thought that counted.

    

She raised the stockinged spacecraft to eye level.

 

“You know this is all Cassie’s fault, right?” she told it, sitting gingerly on her futon and eyeing the toy as though it were a rare and mildly discomfiting artifact.

    

The vibrator didn’t answer.

    

“It’s not like I even _want_ to be like this, but she put the idea in my head last night and now I can’t stop thinking about it,” she went on miserably. “Why do I even listen to her?”

    

Eduardo’s voice was still filtering through the wall and something was starting to twist in the pit of her stomach.

    

This wasn’t her. She wasn’t like this. She knew Cassie was the type of person who would have no qualms jacking off to the sound of her neighbor’s voice - hell, Cassie would probably text him all the details about it later. But Erica wasn’t that type of person. She didn’t even _like_ Eduardo in that way. And if she was going to be adamant that people take her seriously, and not just view her as a collection of body parts, then shouldn’t she do the same thing for them? She couldn’t use Eduardo for his vocal cords, of all things, even if he didn’t know about it.

    

Especially if he didn’t know about it.

    

Erica started upright. _Jesus Christ, what the hell am I doing?_ Was she really so desperate for companionship that she would consider listening in on someone else’s phone calls a suitable replacement for actual human contact? She groaned aloud in disgust with herself and threw the stupid Eiffel Tower figurine away. She knew what the solution was, and it didn’t come in a care package from Lucky’s Adult Boutique.

    

She marched over to the wall that divided her and Eduardo’s apartments and rapped on it firmly.

    

“Hey Eduardo?” she called in to the vent, sure that he would be able to hear her.

    

There was a momentary shuffling on the other side as Eduardo undoubtedly tried to figure out where that voice was coming from. Then:

    

“Erica?”

    

“Yeah, hi. Sorry to bother you, but would you mind keeping your voice down? I can hear you through the wall.”

    

A beat of silence.

    

“Oh. Oh, I, uh, I didn’t realize you could hear me. I’m so sorry. I’ll try to be quieter!”

    

“Thanks.”

    

Erica didn’t feel any remorse in shoving the vibrator back into its little pink box, then in to the very back recesses of her closet. She vowed never to look at it again.

    

Also, to never visit Paris.

 

***

 

The next morning there was a note taped to her door that read:

 

_Hi Erica,_

_sorry I kept you up last night! I didn’t realize these walls were so thin! Next time we get together, I promise I will find a way to make up for it - hopefully neither one of us will be concussed this time! In the meantime, I got you a little gift to help you cope with your annoying next door neighbor._

_Regards,_

_Eduardo_

 

Attached to the note was a package of disposable earplugs. Erica smiled fondly as she peeled the piece of paper off the door and attached it to her fridge with a magnet. What a guy, that Eduardo.

 

***

  
Deciding that you are no longer going to be the world’s creepiest neighbor came with its rewards and its punishments. On one hand, Erica no longer had to live with the guilty conscience that came with being a filthy little eavesdropper. Plus she finally got a chance to break in the nifty noise-cancelling headphones that her dad had given her for last birthday. But, on the other hand, she was now cut off from her main information source for all things Eduardo and, by extension, Eduardo’s friends.  So, she was not at all prepared to ascend the stairs of her apartment after work one day and be greeted not by Eduardo, but by a pile of twitchy limbs and a mess of red hair more or less sprawled out across the entire landing. It perked up at the sound of her footsteps.   
  
“Hey! It’s the lady friend from next door!”  
  
Make that an _obnoxious_ pile of twitchy limbs and red hair.  
  
“I have a name, Dustin,” she sighed as she stepped over him to unlock her door, not really feeling up to engaging in conversation with a 20 year old walking sugar high. Especially not one, who, from the look of the duffel bag sitting in the corner still adorned with tags, had recently gotten off of a very long flight.  
  
Dustin sat up, lopsided grin beaming at her despite her tone.  
  
“Aw, what’s wrong? You not happy to see me?”  
  
Erica reigned in the desire to roll her eyes or fix him with the glare that had been known to reduce lesser men than him to gibbering wrecks (it was all in the eyebrows. It had taken her hours in front of a mirror in 8th grade to perfect it). Instead, she just leaned against her doorframe and sighed again.  
  
“No, Dustin, I’m sort of not.”  
  
He frowned - it might have been the first time she’d ever seen him do that. She wondered if it felt weird to him - and shuffled to his feet. He didn’t look sheepish, exactly. More…penitent.  
  
“Hey, it could be worse. I could be Chris,” he told her, shoving his hands into the pockets of his cargo shorts.

    

“What’s wrong with Chris?” she asked somewhat warily, not wanting to get sucked into a conversation, but always curious about Eduardo’s mysterious band of friends. Dustin seemed to sense this and took his opportunity.

    

“Eh, he’s in a mood,” he explained. “Apparently our life is chaos and we are all ridiculous excuses for human beings. Or something. I don’t really listen anymore.”

    

“Is that why you’re here?” Erica asked, at least half teasing. “Did you piss Chris off?”

    

Dustin cocked an eyebrow. “I may be dumb, sister, but I ain’t suicidal.” He huffed out a laugh, “No, that was all Mark. I didn’t really want to be there when that shitstorm went down so I thought I’d come visit Uncle Wardo till Mark’s new asshole heals up.”

    

“Do they fight like that often?”

    

Dustin shrugged somewhat uncomfortably. Erica was starting to feel a little bad for the guy. It wasn’t his fault that he was just a good natured guy caught in the middle of what was apparently a lot of tension he didn’t want a part of. For all his annoying quirks, Erica didn’t really see Dustin as the kind of person who thrived on drama. And if Eduardo’s late night phone calls were any indication, there was more than enough of that.

    

Plus his tone had gone all melancholic and his face was doing this ‘sad puppy in time out’ thing that was doing something strange to Erica’s veterinary instinct. He even looked like a stray with his tousled hair and clothes wrinkled from travel and his eyes all big and brown and _Jesus fuck Albright, what is your problem right now?_ She was most definitely not thinking about taking him home and giving him a nice bath and a loving home. She wasn’t.

    

Still. She could throw the poor guy a bone (pun literally 100% intended).

    

“Um,” she chewed on her lip for a second, “You know…he doesn’t usually get back until pretty late. You could…come wait at my place. If you wanted.” She gestured awkwardly at the open door behind her.

    

He seemed skeptical. “Really?” he asked, like a starving orphan who had never been before known the kindness of another human being and yes Erica realized the similes were getting a little out of control but in her defense he was kind of weirdly adorable if you ignored his personality.

    

“Really.”

    

The change in Dustin’s expression was so quick it nearly gave Erica whiplash. The grin was back and bigger than ever and he was springing across the landing to retrieve his bag before she even had time to think _what have I done_? He skidded to a stop in front of her and began bouncing on the balls of his feet.

    

“This is going to be so much fun. I’m great at sleepovers, seriously, ask Chris and Mark. Provided, your idea of fun has to be making a wizard staff out of Natty Ice and getting your ass kicked at Mario Kart, but I could probably do some girly stuff too. I _know_ I’m down for a scantily clad pillow fight and I mean, I don’t know how to braid hair per se, but I _am_ pretty good with my hands, so- “

    

Now Erica was glaring at him.  
  
“You do realize I still have the opportunity to lock your ass out, right?”

    

Dustin attempted to sober himself, but she could still see the suggestions of mirth poking at the corner of his mouth.

    

“You wouldn’t really do that, would you?” he asked in mock abasement.

    

Erica sighed yet again. She really was too nice sometimes.

    

“No, unfortunately, I wouldn’t. Go on in. But don’t _touch_ anything.”

    

He skittered into the apartment like the happy little cocker spaniel that he was while Erica paused to shut the door and kick her shoes off in the entryway.

    

“Well you place is certainly nicer than- “

    

Dustin paused. Erica rounded the corner to find him staring, literally slack jawed at the open closet of lingerie that she had foolishly left open.

    

“Is that...?” His voice trailed off, awe-stuck.

    

Erica immediately spun on her heel and headed to the kitchen.

    

“Booze,” she whispered. “Booze.”

 

****

 

Erica slid the glass of whiskey across the coffee table to Dustin. He raised his eyebrows at her, clearly impressed.

    

“Look at you, with your fancy pants alcohol,” he picked up the glass and eyed it. “Whiskey?”

    

She nodded. “Jack Daniels. A gift from my sister. She says that, in the world of free alcohol, all you’ll ever get is whatever shitty cocktail some douchebag guy thinks will get you drunk the fastest. Nothing quality. So she gets me a bottle of the good stuff every birthday.”

    

Dustin chuckled. “She’s not wrong,” there was silence for a moment as they both sipped their drinks before Dustin spoke again.

 

“You know, my dad used to say if you were going to buy a drink for a girl you had to go for beer. It says, ‘I was looking for an excuse to talk to you’ without saying ‘I’m trying to get you wasted’.”

    

Erica nodded appreciatively. “Your father is a wise man.”

    

“Yeah,” Dustin agreed. “He was a real classy gentleman.”

    

“Was?”

    

“Yeah. He died about three years ago. Stomach cancer.”

    

Erica bit her lip. She never knew what to say in situations like these. There was a reason she was going into veterinary medicine and not family practice like she’d originally planned. Animals were easy to deal with. Grieving humans, not so much.

    

Dustin peered at her over the rim of his glass and smiled slightly.“You don’t have to say anything. I’m okay. Seriously. I won’t burst into tears and weep into your bosom or anything. Pinky promise. Unless you’re into that.”

    

Erica tried to return his smile. This evening had gotten a little more intense than she’d anticipated.

    

“Good. ‘Cause anything I’d say would probably just make it worse.”

    

“Eh. I highly doubt that,” Dustin grinned again. It was brief, but it was a grin nonetheless. “I’ve heard it all. I kid you not, at the visitation one of my great aunts came up to me and said, ‘If I could bring him back from the grave right now, I would’.”

    

Erica had made the unfortunate decision to try to drink and laugh at the same time and spent the next few seconds wishing she’d never found out what whiskey felt like coming out of one’s nose.

    

“Jesus fuck. That stings like a bitch,” she sputtered. “What did you say to her?”

    

“I said: ‘Aunt Mary, I appreciate the thought, but if you held the key to bringing about the zombie apocalypse I really think it would be better for everyone if you kept that information to yourself. And, while we agreed that I should be the one to off my father should he rise again amongst the ranks of the undead, I’d rather not have to.’”

    

Erica laughed in earnest this time. “You’re right. That’s legitimately terrible,” she said, trying not to be charmed by the pleased way Dustin’s eyes lit up at her reaction. “Aunt Mary, harbinger of doom.”

    

“Yeah,” Erica wasn’t sure, but she thought he might have actually giggled at that, “we think she’s secretly a Bond Villain.”

    

The two chuckled once more, and then slipped into another silence, this one more companionable than the last. Erica drained what was left of her whiskey and considered that she hadn’t really needed it after all. This wasn’t as bad as she’d thought it would be. Dustin was lounging against the arm of her futon and staring off at the wall, limbs sprawled out like they belonged there.

    

After a few minutes Dustin sighed and sat forward with purpose.

    

“Look, I realize this might piss you off, and I don’t want to do that. But, I have to know…” he licked his lips and gazed into her eyes, “What’s up with the closet?”

    

Erica outright groaned. Maybe there hadn’t been quite enough whiskey yet. Apparently scrambling around him and slamming the offending doors closed, all while studiously avoiding eye contact had not been enough to assuage Dustin’s curiosity. This…wasn’t really surprising, actually, but she’d been hoping the liquor would distract him. Damn persistent boys and their single minded fixation on literal _closet-fulls_ of undergarments. Undergarments she never even wore, by the way. How the fuck do you even explain _that_?

 

_I really hate you right now, Cassie._

    

She covered her face with her hands. “That would be another gift from my sister.”

    

Dustin blinked. He seemed to be having trouble processing this. “So…what you’re telling me is, your sister gives you fancy alcohol and lingerie,” he pointed at the closet doors, “… _that…much_ …lingerie?”

    

What could Erica do but nod her assent, secure in the knowledge of how bizarre this looked? Dustin examined her, his eye critical, but his expression neutral. He leaned forward and spoke in the tone of a stern, but understanding elementary school counselor.

 

“I’m going to need you to be honest with me right now,” he said, “Are you a hooker?”

    

Well. All right, so it wasn’t _totally_ unexpected. Erica hit him with a pillow anyway.

    

“No!” she exclaimed, using the pillow to emphasize each word, “I. Am. Not. A. Hooker. Pervert.”

    

“Okay! Okay! Easy tiger!” Dustin cried, wrestling the pillow away from her, sitting on it, and then throwing his hands up in surrender. “I didn’t mean anything untoward. I just…you have an entire closet full of like…sexy nurse uniforms and…I don’t know! You’ve gotta put yourself through school somehow, right?”

    

Erica forced herself to take a deep breath, trying to calm herself. He was right. She did have quite the collection of garish corsets and bras that were easily more ruffles than substance. She couldn’t exactly expect him to think that she wore Catholic schoolgirl uniforms in her day to day life. Or, more suspiciously, that she didn’t wear them at all, even if that was the truth.

    

“Well,” Erica said once she was suitably level-headed again, “you were the one who said he wanted a pillow fight. I was just giving you what you asked for.”

    

Dustin sighed in relief and flopped back against the futon dramatically.

    

“Jeez, woman, I thought you were actually mad at me! You’re such an enigma!”

    

Erica forced herself to smile. “Not really. Cassie is a very generous person. It’s just that her generosity tends to extend in one particular direction.”

    

One of Dustin’s eyebrows quirked up. “That direction being…the ingredients for sexy-times?”

    

“Unfortunately, yes. She works at an…adult boutique, so she gets a lot of this stuff for really cheap.”

 

“Hold up,” Dustin was suddenly sitting up at attention again. It was disorienting to see him move so much, and so quickly. The boy was a ball of energy. “Your sister works at a sex shop?”

    

Erica nodded slowly. “Yeah. Why?”

    

“Um, no reason in particular. I just- one question: your sister, do you happen to know if she has a boyfriend? And if not, is she looking to go ou-“

    

“Oh my God, Dustin!”

    

“Okay, all right, I’m sorry! I just thought I’d ask!”

    

“Would you stop being gross please?”

    

“I’m sorry, yes, I will. Please continue. Why does your sister send you the world’s hottest birthday gifts?”

    

Erica rolled her eyes.

    

“They’re not all birthday presents. She sends me care packages with that stuff in it all the time. It’s ‘cause she’s worried about me. She thinks I’m some kind of reclusive little nerd who’s going to die an old maid because I don’t have the right…equipment to attract the man of my dreams. Or woman.” Erica corrected herself, thinking of the box of very fashionable strap-ons sitting in the back corner of the closet. “She’s really thought of everything.”

    

Dustin nodded, though his eyes had a bit of a glazed look to them. Still, Erica appreciated that he was at least _trying_ to look like he wasn’t actively imagining her having sex with another woman.

    

“It’s that…a big issue for you? Not…having someone?” he asked.

    

Erica shrugged. “Not right now. I just want to get through my internship and into grad school. That takes up all my time. But Cassie,” Erica paused. “She…I think she might be sort of afraid of me.”

    

Dustin raised both eyebrows. “Afraid of you? Why? Do you hit her with pillows too?”

    

Erica stuck her tongue out at him before continuing, somewhat petulantly.

    

“No. Well…sometimes. But, no. I think she’s intimidated that I’m so different from her. She’s really rebellious and I’m not and it scares her.”

    

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Erica knew they were true. But Dustin frowned. “Rebellious how?”

    

“Well, the plan wasn’t originally for her to work at a sex shop, obviously. My parents wanted her to be a doctor. They paid for her to go to NYU, picked out the ‘perfect’ med-school, everything was going fine; but when it came time for her to actually go she just…snapped. I don’t know, I guess she couldn’t take it and dropped out of school completely. Travelled around with her boyfriend at the time, and when she ran out of money she came back to the city and got a job in the field she actually likes.

    

“I mean, she did get certified to work the desk in the ER a little while later, but by that point my parents had already more or less disowned her. They wouldn’t even let me see her for the last two years of high school.”

    

Erica shifted uncomfortably as she thought of the blowout that had occurred when she was 16. It was the night of her Junior Year Homecoming Dance and she’d only asked Cassie to come home for long enough to help her do her hair. But no sooner had Cassie crossed the threshold than her mother and she had gotten into a screaming match about “being a bad example” and “teaching Erica to be a lazy slut just like her” that had ended in Cassie storming out in tears and their mother making Erica promise she wouldn’t call her sister again as long as she lived under her roof. And Erica had kept that promise.

    

“I guess,” Erica finished, “she thinks because I’m doing what our parents wanted _her_ to do that she’s going to lose me all over again. So, I guess she’s trying to…stake her claim or whatever. Or maybe she’s afraid I’ll run away and she hopes I’ll be weighed down by the metric ton of sex-related paraphernalia that I now own.”

 

She had hoped to end her tragic backstory with a little levity, but her heart wasn’t really in it. She had a closet full of mommy issues that weren’t even her own and she had no idea what to do about it. Dustin didn’t seem too amused either. Rather he looked…well, it took her a moment to decide how he looked. Pensive, she supposed, pensive and concerned.

    

Suddenly, Erica felt a bit self-conscious. She hadn’t meant to tell him all of that. She’d never told _anyone_ all of that, aside from the few people who had found out bits and pieces of the story through the grapevine back in the day. It hadn’t been easy to go through high school as the sister of an apparently deviant outlaw sex goddess, or whatever the teenaged minds of her classmates had warped Cassie into. Erica wondered if she’d said too much, if Dustin was freaked out by her family drama.

    

Had she already managed to damage what could, she was woman enough to admit, actually have become a reasonably decent friendship?

    

“I…I’m sor- I shouldn’t have…That was a lot to just…dump on you,” Erica stuttered. “Too much, probably. Sorry.”

    

Dustin’s eyes met hers. There was something churning behind them that Erica couldn’t place. He shook his head.

    

“It’s fine, I just-“ he paused, frowning. “I’m having trouble wrapping my head around all of that. Like…they’re your parents, you know? Why does it matter what you do for a living? Don’t get me wrong, you should want the best for your kids, but…I mean, is your sister happy?”

    

Erica considered it for a moment. She thought of the smiles that lit up Cassie’s face when she talked about finally convincing a blushing, middle-aged couple to try out a new toy. Or the genuine joy she always felt about the number of _Kama Sutra_ copies that the shop sold during the holidays. _People having meaningless sex don’t buy books, Erica, she would say, I’m selling love. Or, at least, a really good time_. If that wasn’t happiness, then what was it?

    

“Yes,” Erica decided, “I think she is.”

    

“Well shouldn’t that be what matters most? Seriously, when I called my mom and told her I was leaving Harvard to go to California all she told me to do was pack all my underwear and stay out of gang wars. No questions asked,” he stopped abruptly, making sheepish eye contact with Erica as if he thought he’d said something he shouldn’t have. “I mean…not that my family’s perfect or anything. That’s just how my parents are. My dad was always super supportive of what I wanted to do. I wanted World of Warcraft, he played it with me. I wanted to ask the head cheerleader to prom, he helped me pick out the corsage, then sat out on the porch with me after she thoroughly and mockingly rejected my ass. And he didn’t tell anyone how much I cried,” Dustin chuckled at the memory, shaking his head at himself. “My Dad is the reason I even became a programmer in the first place. He and my mom bought me my first computer in 10th grade and let me just fuck around with it. Dad told me I’d be the most brilliant programmer in the world someday.”

    

He frowned. Erica leaned forward. “And?”

    

“And then I got to college and met the most brilliant programmer in the world,” Dustin sighed. “Mark fucking Zuckerberg.”

    

_Why did that name sound so familiar?_

    

“Isn’t that the guy who…?”

    

“Invented Facebook, yeah.”

    

Well _that_ got her attention.

    

“Wait - you know the inventor of Facebook?”

    

Dustin was looking at her very strangely, like he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to laugh at her or take her temperature.

    

“Um, yeah,” he said slowly, “I work for him. Also I’ve lived with him for three years.”

    

“You…?”

    

Something had gone very wrong with Erica’s mental processing abilities because nothing was making any sense to her. Dustin worked for Mark Zuckerberg - no, Dustin worked for _Facebook_. He had probably helped _make_ Facebook. An inventor of Facebook was sitting on her futon listening to her talk about her sister and her lingerie collection.

    

And if Dustin and Eduardo were friends, then how did he fit into this? Did they work together too? Was Mark Zuckerberg _the_ Mark? Had she been living next to one of the most influential people in the entire tech world and _not even fucking noticed_?

    

“Oh my God.”

    

Dustin was smirking at her, clearly pretty proud of himself.

    

 

“Yeah, that’s about how this usually goes.”

    

“All this time I thought he and Mark were just dating!” she wailed.

    

It took Dustin a moment to figure out who “he” was, but once he did he burst into hysterical laughter. It took him a solid five minutes to calm himself down again. Erica didn’t know what was so amusing, but every time he caught a glimpse of the confusion on her face he doubled over again.

    

“That’s awesome,” he said, when he could finally form words again, “Didn’t even know he worked for Facebook, but _that_ you did figure out.”

    

Now Erica was really confused. “Wait…so they _are_ dating?”

    

Dustin shook his head, still giggling a little bit.

    

“Nah. Well, not technically. I mean, Wardo spends all his time mooning over him, but you could whack Mark over the head with a 2 by 4 and he still wouldn’t know you were trying to communicate with him. That’s part of the reason Chris is so mad at him.”

    

“So does everyone know about them?”

    

“Everyone but Mark and Wardo. Wardo’s over here doing everything in his power to make Mark happy, except the one thing that would make Mark happy. And Mark…Jesus, he calls Wardo like 8 times a day and is too dumb to realize that anyone who wasn’t in love with him would have stopped answering by now. It’s exhausting to watch them.”

    

“So what you’re telling me,” surmised Erica, “is that the illustrious inventors of Facebook are not quite as god-like and perfect as they would have us mere mortals think?”

    

Dustin grinned at her yet again (and she was willing to admit that she was growing rather fond of the stupid grin. It suited him).

    

“Well, I wouldn’t say _that_. We are still pretty perfect.”

    

“Oh yeah? How so?” she giggled. She didn’t like that she giggled, but it had been a long night. She was pretty powerless to stop it at this point.

    

“Well, there’s Mark, obviously, who is still just fucking brilliant, even if he is somehow lacking the part of the brain people use to socialize. And Chris is Mr. Charming. Everyone loves Chris. Everyone is scared of Chris, but everyone loves him. And Eduardo…well, you know Eduardo. He’s, like, beautiful, and I feel totally secure in saying that because I’m pretty sure I’ve seen women literally throw themselves at his feet before.”

    

“Oh come on!”

    

“I’m serious! Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t think Eduardo Saverin is fine as hell.”

    

Erica bit her lip and tried not to think about a certain box that had been relegated to the darkest corner of her closet. Dustin took her silence as confirmation.

    

“That’s what I thought.”

    

Erica decided she didn’t really need any more probing in that particular direction, thanks, and tried to steer the conversation elsewhere.

    

“Well what about you?”

    

“Me?” he shrugged. “I’m just the comic relief.”

    

And, ok, _that_ didn’t sit right.

    

“What do you mean you’re _just_ the comic relief? Don’t you…do code or whatever?”

    

“You mean do I _write_ code? Yes I _write_ code,” his tone was teasing, but the humor didn’t really reach his eyes. “I’m head of the technical staff. Tentatively, anyway.”

    

“Well, see!” Erica exclaimed, “That’s pretty impressive. I kinda get the feeling this Mark dude is sort of a control freak if the fucking 3 am phone calls are any indication, so if he trusts you with that it must be a pretty big deal.”

    

Dustin shrugged again, a faint blush beginning to creep up into his cheeks. “I guess. It’s just…easy to feel sort of…disposable in comparison to those guys, you know?”

    

“No,” Erica surged forward before she could think too hard about what she was doing and grabbed the sides of his face, forcing him to look her in the eyes, “No, stop that. You are not disposable. Mark needs you. Besides, these guys are your friends. I know Eduardo likes having you around. For that matter- “

    

She stopped herself, not knowing if she should say what she had been about to say. She was getting confused by the proximity to him that she had suddenly thrust herself into, by the faint dusting to freckles on his cheeks that she hadn’t noticed until just now, by the way he was really, _really_ looking at her, like he wouldn’t stop even if she hadn’t been holding him there.

    

“You what?” he whispered, so softly it almost didn’t sound like him.

    

“I like it too,” she whispered back.

    

From there, the decision-making became much easier. She slid one of her hands back to thread itself in his disheveled mop of hair as he tilted his head forward to just barely brush his lips against hers. It was chaste and almost…sweet in a way she hadn’t expected him to be. The surprise was not unpleasant.

    

The way he gently pushed her back when she leaned in to fit their mouths together properly, however, was.

    

“Wait,” he murmured, pulling back far enough to make eye contact. “You’re not just doing this because you feel bad for the guy with the dead dad, right?”

    

“What? No, of course not,” she replied, trying to bat his hand away. He held her fast.

    

“And you’re not just trying to make your sister happy or whatever?”

    

“ _No_.”

    

“And this isn’t, like, a Facebook thing? ‘Cause I’m not above using my job to get girls, but I don’t really- “

    

“Dustin!” Erica interrupted, exasperated, “Is it really so hard to believe that I would just genuinely _want_ to kiss you?”

    

Apparently it wasn’t, because he hauled her towards him and crushed their mouths together with enough force to send him toppling over backwards onto to futon, dragging her down on top of him. And, _fuck_ , Erica thought: if Dustin Moskowitz didn’t know what he was doing. Not that she had an extensive wealth of experience to draw from, but judging from the slightly embarrassing mewling sounds he was drawing from the back of her throat, he must have been doing something right.

    

She discontinued this train of thought, and, in fact, all trains of thought, when his hands, which had been trailing lightly up and down her back, came up to cup her face so he could trail kisses up the side of her neck. Somewhere in the world, Cassandra Albright was doing a victory dance as Dustin pressed his lips to the bone behind Erica’s ear and whispered, just once, “ _Erica_.”

    

_Oh. So he does know my name. That’s nic_ -

    

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

    

“Hey Dustin? Are you in there?” Eduardo’s voice resounded from the other side of the door. He sounded exhausted, and, frankly, a little worried.

    

The two broke apart, slightly breathless and flushed. They stared at each other for a single heartbeat, neither one knowing exactly what to do. Erica couldn’t help it, she started giggling helplessly.

    

“What the hell is so funny?” Dustin demanded, his eyes still wide and his hair pointing in all directions from the way Erica had knotted her fingers into it. He looked ridiculous. She laughed even harder.

    

“I’m sorry!” she wheezed, “Just…he’s out there all concerned, and you’re…”

    

“I’m what?” he asked, looking at her like she was crazy, but starting to smile anyway. “Being seduced by his sex-addict neighbor?”

    

“Sex-addict?! What the fuck dude.”

    

“Don’t look at me like that, you’re the one with a closet full of sex toys, sister.”

    

“Oh my god!” the two were both giggling like 12 year old girls now.

    

“Dustin?” Eduardo called again. “Erica is he with you?”

    

“Yeah, dude, don’t worry I’m here,” Dustin called back, having mercy on his friend. He lifted Erica off him gently so he could sit up and grab his duffel bag. “I’ll be right out.”

    

He slung the bag over his shoulder and stopped to kiss Erica once more on his way out.

    

“Worst timing ever,” he whispered before walking back to the entryway and throwing the door open.

    

“WarDO!” he cried throwing his arms wide to pull Eduardo into an impressive bear hug. “How’s it going, man?”

    

“Uh, good,” Eduardo seemed very befuddled. “What are you doing in my neighbor’s apartment?”

 

****

 

As it turned out, an almost romantic encounter did not dramatically alter one’s entire world in the way the books Erica had stolen from her sister’s bookshelf during the summer before eighth grade had led her to believe. She had always suspected this to be true, but the string of curses that spewed out of her mouth at the blaring of her alarm clock at seven thirty the next morning, same as always, confirmed it. In fact, the only things that were different from any other mundane day at the office were the half smile that - try as she might - _just wouldn’t go away_ , and which her co-workers eyed with amusement, and the fact that when she got back to her apartment at the end of the day, Dustin was waiting for her again, duffel bag at his feet.

    

“Hi,” he said bashfully, as if he’d been standing there for a while trying to think of the prefect way to greet her, but she’d shown up before he’d figured it out.

    

Erica bit her lip to keep from grinning like the blushing schoolgirl she apparently was now.

    

“Hi.”

    

“I, uh, I wanted to wait for you to come home before I left.”

    

Erica didn’t think he would really appreciate the continuing puppy analogy she had going on in her head, but _come on_. He had _waited for her to get home_. This was not the pattern of male behavior her sister had conditioned her into expecting, but she would definitely take the trade.

    

“Well aren’t you sweet?”

    

Dustin shrugged, ducking his head to cover the blush that was starting to creep up into his cheeks.

    

“Statistically speaking, probably. Chris always tells me if I keep eating so much candy my blood will literally turn into syrup and the Dentists of America are going to give me a medal of honor. Which probably says more about how Chris is going to make a great mom someday than it does about- “

    

“Dustin,” Erica took a few more steps up the staircase toward him. “You’re rambling. Why are you rambling?”

    

He peeked down at her.

    

“Because I have a lot to say?”

    

She took another step up.

    

“Dustin, are you nervous?”

    

He was blushing in earnest now, his face nearly matching his hair.

    

“Uh. Maybe?”

    

“Why?”

    

“Probably because my tongue was in your mouth last night and you didn’t smack me for it and then Wardo was talking about how cool you are and I realized I might actually like you and now I’m going back to California and I might not ever see you again and I am just a simple nerd from Florida, and Chris isn’t even here to tell me what to do and who are you to tell a man when he can and cannot ramble anyway? Are you the word police?”

    

“No,” Erica acquiesced, “But I probably have the right attire for it in my closet.”

    

Dustin sort of…flailed ineffectively for a moment.

    

“No, see, you just- ” he sighed. “I’m in over my head here, aren’t I?”    

 

Erica laughed and reached up to pull his face down to her level.

    

“Yes,” she told him, “you probably are.”

    

Then, because he was still here and she still could, hell, she still _wanted to_ , she pulled him in even closer to kiss him.

    

When they broke apart the grin he wore was so wide it looked painful.

    

“ _God_ ,” he exclaimed, “Can I call you sometime?”

    

Erica rolled her eyes. Surely they were doing this all backwards.

    

“Why don’t you Facebook Me, Mr. Head of Technical Staff?” she asked, ascending the rest of the staircase and glancing back at him. “Call it research. Not even Chris could get mad at you for that.”

    

Dustin laughed.

    

“Sure he could, but I’ll do it anyway,” he promised, shouldering his bag and glancing at his watch. “I gotta go or I’ll miss my flight. But…hey, it was nice to see you, Erica.” He winked.

    

“It was nice to drink whiskey then make out on my futon,” she replied, still enjoying how easy it was to make him blush now. Who would have thought?

    

“So literal!” he laughed again as he bounded down the stairs, only turning back once he reached to bottom to look back up at her and scream, “I TOTALLY MADE OUT WITH ERICA ALBRIGHT LAST NIGHT!” and then dash out the door before she could chase after him. She opted to let the poor guy go. This probably was a big moment for him, might as well just let him have it. Besides, that wasn’t the most awkward thing ever screamed in the hallway of that building. Hell, the Feinsteins from 4B had been caught having angry sex in the lobby at _least_ three times so far. There was really nothing you could do but just shake your head and chuckle about it.

    

This is exactly what Eduardo was doing when Erica turned to enter her apartment.

    

“Wow,” he said. “So you and Dustin, huh?”

    

She smiled slyly in response.

    

“Don’t give me that look, Saverin. I got him drunk and learned all kinds of fun little secrets,” she told him. “Someday we’ll have to go get drinks and you can tell me alllllll about Mark.”

    

In retrospect, the maniacal cackle may not have been completely necessary. The look on his face was priceless, though.

    

Absolutely. Priceless.

 

****

 

Contrary to everything she had ever believed about herself, Erica found that she didn’t really mind the long-distance thing. Not that she and Dustin were a “thing” per se. Actually, she didn’t know what their deal was. But, true to his word, Dustin had “friended” her on the website he and his friends had _created_ (which, oh my _god_ she was never going to get used to that) and was, more or less, always available to talk. This suited Erica just fine as there was still a void in her life where eavesdropping on Eduardo used to be, both in terms of time and in information collection. Dustin was able to fill both needs quite nicely. Plus, he often asked questions like “What did you do at the clinic today?” and “What is your favorite type of animal?” and “So what are you wearing right now?” which all lead to much more interesting conversations that anything Eduardo had ever talked about.

 

Speaking of which: Dustin was (when not trying to convince Erica that maybe – “Only if you want to, obviously. I don’t ever want you to make you feel uncomfortable” – she shouldn’t let all of Cassie’s generous gifts go to waste) quite worried about The Issue with Eduardo and Mark. Namely: he, and Chris, and basically anyone else who had ever seen the two of them interact, _knew_ how besotted they were with one another. No one could figure out what the fuck they were doing on opposite ends of the country from one another, bickering all the time when they obviously needed each other so badly.

 

“You know Mark was supposed to help us move Eduardo into his apartment, right?” Dustin confided over the phone one night. “He didn’t come because he convinced himself that if he didn’t _see_ Eduardo leaving him that maybe it wouldn’t happen.”

 

It made Erica’s heart ache to hear it. Eduardo was trying so _hard_ to be what Mark wanted. That was clear now, even to her. She still didn’t know exactly what a CFO did, but Dustin had explained to her Eduardo’s advertising crusade, and the absolute hell he was going through for it. And that showed. Every time Erica saw Eduardo he looked older, somehow. His smiles came slower and faded faster and the circles under his eyes were dark enough to be bruises. He was fading.

 

She had even come home from work one day to find him asleep in the hallway, keys in his hand, like he’d just given up right there, two steps away from his front door. After a panicked moment of pulse-checking to make sure he hadn’t dropped dead of exhaustion, she kneeled down next to him and shook his shoulder gently until his eyes opened blearily.

 

“What is it with you hot-shot Facebook employees and thinking you can just sprawl out in this hallway whenever you want?” she asked, teasing.

 

Eduardo groaned, massaging his neck from the awkward angle he had dozed off in.

 

“Ugh. Don’t talk about me like I’m someone important,” he grumbled.

 

“Don’t talk about yourself like you’re not,” Erica countered evenly, refusing to encourage his low self-esteem. She plopped down onto the floor too and scooted up next to him. “So do you want to talk about it?”

 

Eduardo huffed out a single, anemic laugh. “I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

 

Fortunately for him, Erica did.

 

“Tell me about Mark, Eduardo,” she said softly. There was no use pretending she didn’t know as much as she knew.

 

Eduardo heaved a heavy sigh and slumped further down the wall.

 

“He’s…I don’t know what I’m doing anymore, Erica. I don’t…I had all these ideals, you know? Before I even got to college. And I thought, well shit, it’s fucking _Harvard_. Nothing revolutionary ever came out of the Harvard economics department. But then…there was Mark and suddenly nothing made sense,” the words were leaving Eduardo like they _had to_ and Erica knew better than to interrupt at this point. “He’s…he not like everyone else. He just…sees people. I mean, _really_ sees them and he’s really fucking brilliant. He knows what people want and he knows the best way to give it to them. Facebook is just the start I can tell and I,” Eduardo shook his head sadly and gestured vaguely to his current position, leaning against a dingy wall in the hallway of a low-rent apartment complex, “I only know what the textbooks tell me I should do. What my father would do. What the Harvard Business School teaches. But this is…it’s not my father’s world anymore. And I don’t know what to do.”

 

Erica considered all of this for a long moment before forming her response. She could sense that Eduardo didn’t admit to this kind of weakness very often. Suave, charming Eduardo with his immaculate hair and his boxes of carefully matched dress socks was a product of a world that didn’t like to see the cracks in the veneer. He had to be well-dressed. He had to be winsome. He had to be assertive. In short, he had to be whatever people wanted him to be. Or, at least, he thought he did. And he’d run into someone who wasn’t good at communicating what they wanted. Someone Eduardo sorely wanted to impress.

 

The problem wasn’t that he didn’t know what to _do_ , the problem was that he didn’t know who to _be_. He had given that power over to someone who didn’t know how to use it. Erica could relate to that feeling more than she cared to admit.

 

“You know,” she began hesitantly, not wanting to say the wrong thing, “you don’t always have to be right.”

 

Eduardo blinked at her, possibly because he did not have telepathic powers and had no idea where that non-sequitur had come from.

 

“I beg your pardon?”

 

“I mean,” Erica grappled with her words, “maybe it isn’t as important to do the exact right thing right away as it is to take some chances, to try something new and not worry so much about disappointing someone.”

 

Eduardo’s brow furrowed slightly and he stared absently at the floor for a moment, actually considering her clumsy words of advice.

 

“So…what you’re saying is: it’s not the destination it’s the journey?”

 

“Um. Not exactly. Although just because something’s trite doesn’t mean it’s not true,” she paused, trying to regroup her thoughts for a third time and explain herself clearly. “What I mean is: you’re in uncharted territories now, right? Now isn’t the time to be worried about the old guard and it certainly isn’t the time to be deferring to your “Econ 101” textbook. Now is the time to be doing whatever it takes to make Facebook the best it can be. If that means you have to deviate from the Harvard Business School template of a CFO, then maybe you just have to trust that it will be worth it. Someone’s gonna be pissed at you either way. At least this way you won’t lose your friends.”

 

Eduardo had taken her speech in with an expression of mixed awe and amusement.

 

“That was really inspirational,” he murmured.

 

Erica shrugged. “I would’ve thought it was obvious, what with Mark being such a genius and all. If he’s so smart then why don’t you trust him?”

 

Eduardo’s expression shifted back to “stricken” and he carded his hand through his hair in agitation. “I want to! I really do, it’s just that this is all so…unknown.”

 

“Well then why don’t you try to get to know it, then?”

 

He had no response to that. Eduardo’s mouth opened and closed a few times, as if he wanted to argue with her, but he kept realizing he didn’t have an excuse big enough. He had enough money, a place to live, even a job for fuck’s sake. There was nothing keeping Eduardo from going to California but his own old-fashioned ideals.

 

That and maybe his ambiguous relationship with Mark. Erica could see why he might not want to deal with that.

 

The duo sat in contemplative silence in the fluorescent-lit hallway for a minute before Eduardo spoke again.

 

“That doesn’t answer my original question though.”

 

“What was your original question?”

 

“What should I _do_? As in right now, what do I do?”

 

Erica smiled at her friend and hauled herself up onto her feet. “Well,” she said, extending her hands out to Eduardo, “first of all you should get off of the floor. God only knows what you might be sitting in. And second of all: call Mark. Tell him it’s time for you two to talk in person.”

***

 

And that’s the story of how Erica Albright, pre-veterinary student from Boston, was roped into babysitting the inventor of Facebook for an afternoon.

 

“Wait, hold on,” Erica interrupted the furious pacing and hair-clutching of her panicking next-door neighbor, “Eduardo, when I said you needed to talk in person, this isn’t really what I meant. Why would he be coming _here_?”

 

“I don’t know!” Eduardo exclaimed. “I don’t know. He just said ‘whatever it takes for you and Chris to stop bitching at me so I can actually get some work done’ and then told he was booking himself a ticket to New York.”

 

This didn’t necessarily sound like the stubborn, reclusive genius Erica had heard so much about, but then she wasn’t his best friend. Though, to be fair, Eduardo didn’t seem to understand it either.

 

“So I just have to…what, let him sit on my couch with his laptop while you’re at work or what?” Erica asked, suddenly a little self-conscious that her humble apartment would fail to impress the newest darling of the technological universe.

 

“Yes, I promise, that’s all. And if he’s an asshole to you, you can just throw him out. Mark can be sort of…a handful, I guess. But I’ll warn him to be on his best behavior. He still probably won’t be, but I’ll try. You’re literally a life saver, Erica. Literally.”

 

Erica had serious doubts as to whether or not Eduardo knew the definition of the word “literally”, but she agreed to help him out anyway. They were, she was pleased to realize, really friends now. It was a happy thought, even if it did mean she would have to entertain Mark Zuckerberg all on her own.

 

***

 

Cassie, however, was not as pleased with this development as her sister was.

 

“What do you mean you’re helping your incredibly sexy Brazilian neighbor hook up with another dude? I’m pretty sure that’s the _exact opposite_ of what I told you to do!”

 

In hindsight, it maybe wasn’t the best idea for Erica to present her “Oh by the way I’m trying to help my new male friend foster his relationship with his best friend by having said friend over to my apartment for a few hours and I really need to get all of this weird sex stuff out before he gets here and thinks I’m the creepiest person alive” as an opportunity for Cassie to pick up some of Erica’s old clothes to take to Goodwill. Not her shining moment as far as planning went, but this was a strange new world for Erica. She had never been the facilitator of true love finding its way against all odds before, but she was pretty sure it didn’t involve novelty vibrators.

 

Plus, really, she was never going to use that stuff. Might as well give it away to someone who might enjoy it. This counted as charity work, in Erica’s mind.

 

But Cassie, who was staring at the neatly stacked boxes of unopened sex toys and carefully folded negligees like they had betrayed her, apparently did not see things that way.

 

“Well, um,” Erica bit her lip. She should have practiced this speech beforehand. She hadn’t been prepared for just how _hurt_ Cassie looked. “He asked for my help. I’m trying to be a good friend.”

 

“A friend?” Cassie repeated incredulously, “ _Just_ a friend?”

 

“Um. Yes?”

 

Erica steeled herself for yet another lecture about how she had a body most women would kill for and it was downright irresponsible for her not to use it. But, to her surprise, Cassie sank down on to the futon and shook her head slowly at the carpet.

 

“When are you going to fight for yourself, Erica?” she asked quietly.

 

_Wait, what?_

 

“I’m sorry?”

 

“You heard me,” Cassie lifted her head and caught Erica’s gaze, “When are you going to stand up for yourself instead of letting people push you around all the time? God, you’re so _passive_ and it just _kills_ me.”

    

Erica shook her head, unable to believe what she was hearing. Was this not the same person who, two seconds ago, had been criticizing Erica for not doing what she deemed the proper course of action?

 

“No, Cas, it isn’t like that. Eduardo, he’s just-“

    

“Do you like him?” Cassie demanded.

    

“Wh-yeah… I, yeah. But it’s not like th-“

    

“No. Do you like him?”

    

“Yes!”

    

“Then _do_ something about it! Jesus, Erica, this isn’t some stupid romantic comedy starring Katherine fucking Heigel. You don’t have to help the guy you like hook up with someone else. It’s like you don’t even want to be with him!”

 

“THAT’S BECAUSE I DON’T!”

    

Erica’s sudden outburst was as much a surprise to her as it was to Cassie, who was now literally gaping at her. Erica _never_ yelled. But, as long as she had her sister’s attention, she was going to take advantage of it.

 

“I don’t want to be with Eduardo. Okay? I don’t think I ever did. I was only describing him at the clinic that day because my co-workers asked me to, not because I wanted to sleep with him! But, as usual, you had to go and make it all about sex even though I didn’t ask you to. In fact, I have never fucking asked you to comment on my sex life, yet that seems to be all you’re _capable_ of commenting on. God, it’s like I’m not even worth anything to you unless I have some stupid soap-opera bullshit to share. And you send me all this shit from your store like that’s all I need to have all this crazy sex is this shit that I don’t even want to have! It’s gotten to the point that I don’t want to tell you about people I actually _do_ like because I’m afraid you’ll lock us in a closet together and won’t let us out until he sticks his penis into me! Do you understand how abnormal that is?”  
  
Erica’s voice was reaching near hysterical levels now, but she couldn’t make herself stop. “And, yeah, Cassie, there is a guy. His name is Dustin, and he may not be a South American sex-god or whatever the hell you seem to think Eduardo is, but he’s sweet and he’s funny and he actually cares about what I have to say, which is more than I can say for you!”

 

The problem with catharsis was that it was only effective up to a certain point. That point for Erica was the sight of tears tracking silently down her sister’s stunned face. Erica didn’t feel particularly vindicated in that moment. She just felt mean.

 

She felt like her mother. _Oh dear God_.

 

“You think I don’t care about you?” Cassie whispered.

 

“No, I know you- I didn’t mean it like that,” Erica buried her face in her hands. “I just…I’m not your project, Cassie. You don’t get to mold me into your perfect little sexual deviant. I’m not…like you in that way. I don’t want that stuff.”

    

Cassie shook her head vehemently. “No, no you’re not a project. You’re not - I don’t care who you’re fucking. Or… _if_ you’re fucking. All this,” she gestured to the pile of unwanted Lucky’s merchandise by the door, “I just sent you that stuff because I thought you were scared! I thought…maybe, growing up, you didn’t get a great sexual education and you were all repressed and afraid to express yourself. I didn’t know you were uncomfortable.”

    

This was the most miserable Erica had seen Cassie look since the Homecoming incident. Of course Erica knew that Cassie had never intended her actions to be hurtful. And she hated seeing her sister upset like this after everything their parents had put her through regarding her sexual behavior in the past.

    

But…Erica _was_ uncomfortable. She had accepted that she would just never be on the same level as Cassie when it came to sex. Or, in any other way. They were different people. Cassie was impulsive and confident and unafraid to say whatever she was thinking at the time. Erica was…the opposite of that. Erica liked walking dogs and spying on neighbors she was too shy to talk to and drinking lots of coffee in the same place every morning. And it was fine. It was all fine. Cassie just didn’t seem to realize it yet.

    

Erica sat down on the futon next to her distraught sister and pulled her into an only moderately awkward seated hug.

 

“I know you didn’t, Cas. I didn’t really try all that hard to tell you. And I appreciate your generosity, I really do. But, the costumes and the weird vibrating…extra appendages, that’s just not me, you know? I just sort of accepted them all for a long time because I didn’t know what _was_ me and I didn’t have any better way of figuring it out. But now…I think it’s better if you trust me to know how to make my own decisions. And Cas,” Erica pulled back so she could look Cassie in the face, “I’m not mad at you, okay? I’m really not. I was just frustrated. But it’s going to take a lot more than a closetful of dildos to come between me and my best friend.”

    

“Closetful of Dildos would be a great band name,” Cassie mumbled, wiping at her eyes.

 

“Right?” Erica retrieved a tissue from the coffee-table to help Cassie mop up her dripping mascara. “So are we good?”

 

Cassie nodded sheepishly. “Yeah. I’m sorry. For what it’s worth I really thought I was being helpful.”

    

Erica reached forward and drew her sister in for a real hug this time.

    

“I know you were,” she whispered.

    

“God, when did you get so much more mature than me?” Cassie asked when they let each other go.

    

Erica rolled her eyes. “Please. I’ve always been more mature than you.”

    

Cassie burst into laughter and whacked Erica with a pillow.

    

“Shut up. Asshole,” she giggled, slumping down on the futon. After a beat of silence she turned to Erica, one eyebrow raised. “So, Dustin, huh?”

    

“Yup.”

    

“What’s he like?”

 

Erica shrugged. “He’s sort of goofy and nerdy. Totally not your type at all. Hell of a kisser though, which is a plus. Helped invent Facebook.”

    

“Wait—he _what_?”

    

And maybe Erica had a lot more explaining to do.

 

***

 

Growing up in suburban Massachusetts didn’t really lend itself to a wide variety of what Erica considered “surreal” experiences. Before moving to New York, she might not even have been sure she knew what that word meant. But, standing in the doorway of the nicest apartment she could afford being stared down by the literal, actual, honest-to-God inventor of Facebook was definitely surreal.

    

And really, he could not possibly have been any more different from Eduardo. Mark Zuckerberg was, resume notwithstanding, a slouching, scowling young man in athletic flip-flops and sweatpants that had probably been white at some point. You’d never know to look at him that he was the current ruler of the universe. If Eduardo hadn’t said something along the lines of “Oh yeah, he’ll probably look like a hobo. Don’t be alarmed,” she probably would have asked him if he was at the wrong apartment.

    

As it was, she put on her most charming smile and prayed to any entity who was listening that Mark wouldn’t disintegrate her with his mind power.

    

“The man behind the curtain, I presume?” she asked because she was, apparently, an idiot.

    

Mark raised one eyebrow slowly enough to be terrifying.

    

“Is that code for something?” he replied.

    

“It’s a, um, a Wizard of Oz reference. I don’t generally speak in code. I heard that was your job.”

    

_Great. Keep making stupid jokes, Albright. That is clearly just what this situation needs._ Mark’s face had moved all of a single inch since she’d opened the door, but she still felt disdain just radiating out from it. When Eduardo said Mark could see people he hadn’t been kidding. Erica felt exposed to her core.

    

“I take it you are Wardo’s friend then. Unless you talk to everyone this way,” Mark’s voice was hard to keep up with.

    

Erica nodded. “In the flesh. I’m Erica Albright.”

    

“Mark.”

    

Erica stood aside to let him come in to her apartment. “It’s nice to meet you, Mark. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

    

“Yeah,” Mark replied, glancing around the living area impassively, “I’ve heard a lot about you, too.”

    

Erica stopped short. “Wait, seriously?”

    

The CEO of Facebook had heard of her? Well, obviously he had heard about her from Eduardo, as he was currently in her home. But, he had heard a _lot_ about her? Look, she wasn’t going to pretend that wasn’t cool. She just wasn’t.

    

Although, she had made out with his Head of Technical Staff already and contemplated reenacting a porno with his CFO, so maybe a bit of perspective was in order.

    

“You are the girl Dustin won’t shut up about, aren’t you?”

    

“Oh.” Well, that explained it.

    

“Don’t worry,” Mark was smirking now. It was nice to know he was capable of forming recognizable human expressions, but Erica didn’t really know if she liked the implication behind this one. “He’s mostly harmless.”

 

Erica didn’t really want Mark Zuckerberg commenting on her love life anymore than she wanted anyone else commenting on it.

 

“Well, that’s comforting. Anyway, you can go ahead and make yourself at home, I guess. Um. Do you want anything?”

    

Mark shrugged as he sat down on the futon. “I want a lot of things,” he said, “I want to be back in California. I want Sean to send me actual updates instead of creeper shots of girls he wants to bang. I want Wardo to get his head out of his ass. You’ll have to be a little more specific.”

    

Erica stared blankly at her guest. “I have water or Diet Coke.”

    

Mark shrugged again, stuffing his hands into the pocket of the faded hoodie he was wearing.

    

“Diet Coke is fine. I’m not picky.”

    

_Well_ , Erica thought as she escaped to the kitchen, _at least I’m not tempted to seduce this one_. That would have been a relief if she hadn’t been seriously considering turning Mark out into the street and telling him he could fend for himself. _A bit of a handful my ass, Eduardo_.

 

But, she had made a promise and she intended to keep that promise, even if it meant playing nice with the human version of the perpetually pissed-off cat crotchety old Mrs. Johnson brought into the clinic twice a week because she was convinced it was trying to steal her soul in her sleep. Erica wondered if he would play with a ball of yarn if she produced one for him. She tried not to smirk when she went back into the living room and Mark was absentmindedly threading his fingers through the knitted afghan she had slung over the armrest of the futon.

 

He accepted the can of pop she handed him without thanks, but he did stare quizzically at the pile of homework formerly known as her desk and asked:

    

“Why do you have so many books?”

    

“I’m studying to be a vet. I’m taking the VCAT in a few weeks, actually. I’ve been doing clinical work for the past semester to pad my resume,” she told him, because at least she knew how to talk about this stuff.

    

Mark didn’t seem particularly impressed. “Oh. That’s…cool, I guess.”

    

Erica dug her fingernails in to her palms. She didn’t like the way his words felt like mockery, even if they didn’t sound like it. There was a sense of superiority about Mark. Something in the way he held his chin; the way his eyes darted from place to place as if everything he saw was boring to him didn’t sit well with her. There was something about a boy in dirty sweatpants curling his lip at her lifestyle choices that made Erica want to fight.

    

“Yeah. Apparently BU raised its standards for pre-med students like a year ago or something. They want students to—“

    

“BU?” Mark interrupted, “That’s where you go?”

 

“Yes,” Erica countered, “is that a problem?”

    

“No,” Mark’s mouth was twitching at the corners now. He wasn’t even _trying_ to suppress the smug little smirk now. “I’m just surprised you have that much work,” he said, gesturing at the desk.

    

“Oh my god,” Erica sprang off the couch, propelled by sheer explosive rage. “Literally, _literally_ , what the fuck is wrong with you?”

 

Mark sighed and rolled his eyes like he’d heard all of this before. Which, granted, he probably had. It did nothing to placate Erica’s growing desire to throttle the little bastard though.

    

“It was a joke. Relax.”

    

“ _That’s_ your idea of a joke? Jesus Christ how do you have any friends at all?”

 

Erica scrubbed an irritated hand down her face and tried to remind herself that murdering Mark Zuckerberg was basically the opposite of what Eduardo had asked her to do. “You are aware of the fact that I am under no obligation to be hospitable towards you, right? I am fully within my rights to turn you out into the hallway and let the lady from 4C feed you to her cats.”

    

Mark held up his hands in halfhearted placation. “All right. Fine. I’m sorry. Happy now?”

    

“Happy?” Erica could help but laugh. “A kid in a hoodie and fucking shower shoes just questioned my intelligence, but yeah I’m having the time of my life,” she shook her head, “Eduardo told me you were a douchebag, but he didn’t say you were this bad.”

    

“Yes, well, Eduardo isn’t always the best at reading situations correctly. That isn’t my fault.”

 

“I think his problem is more that he’s too generous to people who don’t deserve it,” Erica spat.

    

And Mark was silent.

 

He didn’t argue. He didn’t fight back. He didn’t have a clever, quick-fire come back and that struck Erica as sort of strange. Dustin had spent hours telling her all about the great Mark Zuckerberg who spent hours upon hours at his computer and fought tooth and nail to see his dream become a reality. Mark Zuckerberg didn’t take shit from people because he didn’t have to. It was one of the perks, according to Dustin, of always being the smartest person in the room. Not that that mattered to Erica, because in her opinion thus far Mark was a disrespectful person and she had no desire to humor him.

    

But still, it seems like a genius would stand up for himself.

 

Unless…

 

Unless maybe he agreed with her. It was hard to believe that a person could revolutionize the world more or less single handedly and still feel undeserving of his own best friend, but Erica supposed it wasn’t impossible. Maybe, in all the time Eduardo had spent being afraid that he wasn’t good enough for Mark, Mark had been feeling the same way about Eduardo.

    

_I am not getting paid enough for this shit_. Erica crossed her arms in front of her and took a long, hard look at Mark.

    

“Do you know what I see when I look at you?” Erica asked the glowering boy sitting on her couch.

    

“Oh, I don’t know,” Mark drawled sarcastically, “a pain in the ass little nerd? An _asshole_?” his voice was acerbic around the last word.

    

Erica shook her head. “No. I see a sad, scared little boy so afraid people won’t like him that he won’t even let anyone get close enough to try.”

     

Mark stared at her blankly. “Yeah, I don’t really go in for all that psychobabble crap. Sorry,” his voice had thrown up a wall of steel between himself and Erica’s words.

    

“It’s not crap,” she insisted, steadfastly holding his icy blue gaze and not letting go. “It’s the truth. You disappear into your lines of code or what the fuck ever because it’s safer for you than other people. You’ll take Eduardo’s money or Chris’ advice, but you won’t tell anyone what you actually want from them. You refused to even help Eduardo move in to his apartment because you were so upset about him leaving you, for Christ sake! God, Mark, can’t you even see what you’re doing?”

    

Mark’s expression twisted strangely as she spoke, his expression a cross between defensive imperiousness and fear. His hands picked at the fabric of the afghan absently but obsessively.

    

“Apparently not,” he bit out between clenched teeth, “but I get the feeling you’re about to enlighten me.”

    

“You’re driving everyone away!” Erica cried, wishing her words were spikes she could drive into Mark’s skull just to make him understand. “People _want_ to care about you, Mark. Eduardo, he- “ she paused, trying to think of the most impactful way to phrase this.

    

“It’s killing him,” she decided on, “it’s eating him alive. And from what I can tell, it’s killing you too. Why you two don’t just fucking _talk_ to each other, I’ll never know.”

    

Mark rolled his eyes. “That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?”

    

“No,” she retorted, standing her ground, “I wouldn’t be wasting my time with you right now if it wasn’t true. I share a damn wall with the guy, Zuckerberg, I can hear everything he does. Coming back home after midnight, leaving again before the sun’s even up, spending every free minute on the phone trying to sell some dickhead in a stuffy suit your ‘billion dollar idea’. He’s driving himself to distraction to the point of literally walking into traffic - just to have you call him at the end of the week to tell him what disappointment he is. He’s…he’s really putting himself on the line for you and you won’t even have the decency to tell him what he’s doing wrong.”

    

Mark wasn’t looking at Erica anymore. His fingers were locked in a death grip on the afghan and Erica couldn’t even tell for sure if he was breathing. She wondered for a minute if she’d lost him somewhere during her speech, if he’d retreated into wherever it was that he went to avoid dealing with what was in front of him. She contemplated smacking him for real until he whispered:

    

“2 am”

    

“What?”

    

“Who the fuck checks their friend’s blog at 2 am?” He raised his head to meet Erica’s gaze again, bright blue eyes wide a beseeching, like a child who’d just found out Santa Claus wasn’t real.

 

Erica shook her head. “An insomniac? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

    

Mark shifted forward in his seat, casting the afghan aside and threading his fingers together instead. His brow was furrowed.

    

“He- I mean, everyone went on Facemash because we sent it to them, but he was already…what the fuck?”

    

Apparently this question was directed at Erica because he’d fallen silent and was staring helplessly at her again.

    

“Can you be a little more specific?”

    

Mark bit down on his lower lip, though whether it was in concentration or nerves Erica didn’t know.

    

“Friends don’t, um, check up on their friends’ blogs in the middle of the night on a Tuesday,” he sighed.

    

“No,” she agreed, “ _friends_ don’t.”

    

Mark narrowed his eyes at her.

    

“See, that was cryptic so you do speak in code.”

    

Erica couldn’t help but laugh at him. His anger didn’t seem nearly as biting now that she had just seen him so vulnerable. She collapsed into the chair opposite him as she replied, “I don’t know what to tell you, dude. If you want the full story you’ll have to talk to Wardo yourself. I’ve already gone above and beyond the call of my duty.”

 

Not long after this exchange, Eduardo came home from work and Mark went next door to join him, the weight of realization still heavy in his eyes. Erica called Cassie to inquire about the possibility of staying over at her place that night. The walls in Erica’s apartment were, after all, very thin.

 

***

 

Erica smoothed the fabric down over her hips for what must have been the 800th time.

    

“Are you sure I look good?” she fretted.

    

Cassie rolled her eyes for what must have also been the 800th time.

    

“Yes,” she replied peevishly. “You would look gorgeous in a garbage sack. Of course you look good right now. But if you don’t stop twitching I’m going to burn your hair off and then you will look less good so hold still.”

    

Erica tried to keep herself from moving—you only needed to have so many run-ins with a hot curling iron before you learned a serious lesson about making sudden movements when someone was doing your hair. Still, it was difficult. She hadn’t known she would be this nervous.

    

The invitation had come in the mail on the previous Thursday, in a little blue envelope nestled behind a larger, white envelope containing information about whether Erica had gotten into med school or not. She’d been such a nervous wreck that day that she almost hadn’t seen the second envelope at all. But, once she noticed it, she opened that one first, because she was a coward and she refused to apologize for that fact.

    

Inside the blue envelope was a single piece of cardstock bearing the Facebook logo and, in a fancy, Chris-approved font, the words:

    

_You are cordially invited to an evening of festivities celebrating the engagement of Mr. Mark Zuckerberg and Mr. Eduardo Saverin. Aperitifs will be served at 7:30 pm and the dress will be black-tie, whether Mark likes it or not._

 

There was also a round-trip plane ticket to California. Erica had almost cried. When she opened the white envelope and the first words she saw were: “Congratulations! We are pleased to inform you that your application has been accepted…” she _definitely_ cried. She called Dustin in such a haze of happiness (and tears) that neither knew what was going on.

    

But, one thing was for sure: she was going to California.

 

The problem was, now that she was here she was kind of freaking the fuck out.

    

“Seriously, Erica, you’re gonna be fine. These guys are your friends, right?” Cassie, who had opted to pay her own way to California for the purposes of moral support and boy watching (some things would never change), reassured her sister. “Besides, I got you a little something that might help.”

    

“I thought we agreed that there would be no more gift giving,” Erica protested.

    

“Relax,” Cassie rolled her eyes for the 247th of 800 times as she produced a white garment box from somewhere in her luggage. “No sex stuff this time. This is just a present for my little sister for her first ever black-tie event. You know, since I sort of ruined high school formals for you.”

 

Erica was a little wary about the box, given her sister’s history; but, she supposed it’s not having been from Lucky’s was as good a start as any. Erica lifted off the lid and drew out a long line of blue silk in the exact shade of Facebook blue.

    

“You…bought me a dress?” Erica was surprised to find herself a little choked up about this fact.

    

Cassie shrugged, very nearly blushing, if such a thing was possible. “Well, it was that or your bat-mitzvah gown. And, let’s be real here, it’s a little sad that you still have that. So…”

    

Erica interrupted her sister by throwing her arms around Cassie’s neck. “Have I told you lately that you’re the best sister ever?”

    

Cassie laughed and pried Erica’s arms off. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, you worship the ground I walk on. Now, go try it on so I can do your hair for you.”

    

The dress, of course (given Cassie’s detailed knowledge of all  Erica’s measurements) fit like a glove, but, in the most ironic turn of events Erica had ever heard of, was too skin-tight to allow for any undergarments, let alone anything with lace. _I guess you can teach an old dog new tricks_.  

 

Once Cassie was satisfied with the complexity of Erica’s updo she took a step back to let the younger woman admire herself. Honestly, it was a hell of a dress. Moreover, Erica could admit that she didn’t look half bad in it. Cassie’s handiwork was definitely paying off. But, Erica was still worried. This wasn’t homecoming. This was an engagement party for two of the biggest names in the world. Palo Alto itself was full enough of rich, shiny people to set Erica on edge. But, this was _Facebook_. This was a whole other level.

    

Erica took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. Cassie, noticing, strode forward and grabbed Erica by the shoulders.

“Hey. Look at me. You’re going to be fine, okay? Being rich and powerful doesn’t make these people better. If you feel awkward, just think of Eduardo sitting in the ER with a Hello Kitty band-aid on his forehead because he literally walked into traffic. Everyone does dumb shit. But, you, Miss Thing, will be the only person in that room who lectured Mark Zuckerberg into a relationship. Silicon Valley doesn’t have shit on you. Besides,” Cassie shrugged, “Dustin will be there. You want to see him, right?”

    

Erica felt herself grinning despite herself. Cassie seemed heartened enough by that to start shoving her towards the door of the hotel room.

 

“Now go! You don’t want to be late for the aperitifs, whatever the hell that is. Call me if you need to come back early or if you…uh, decide not to come back tonight. Whatever you decide to do. Just have fun.”

    

Erica felt obligated to hug her sister one more time before she left. Change was slow, but it was happening.

 

As it turned out, even fancy Facebook parties had dorky slow dancing. Well, they had slow music, anyway. Whether the dancing was dorky because Erica and Dustin were the ones doing it was up for debate; not that either party was interested in debating.

    

“I can’t believe you’re actually going to be a doctor,” Dustin shook his head as the pair shuffled in slow circles together on a balcony just off the room in which the party was currently in full swing.

    

Erica raised her eyebrows. “I can’t believe I’m at an engagement party for the inventor of fucking Facebook. Perspective, Dustin,” Erica teased.

    

“Yeah,” Dustin’s trademark grin lit up his face and he bounced a little on the balls of his feet, “Life is pretty awesome. Speaking of,” he slid his hands from her hips around to her small of her back, drawing her closer. This made it difficult to keep dancing, but Erica decided that dancing wasn’t all that important to her at the moment.

    

“I can’t believe you’re finally here. Also, I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it yet, but you look ridiculously beautiful right now. Like, it’s almost not fair,” Dustin’s voice had dropped to a low whisper that sent a pleasant thrill down Erica’s spine. This she could work with.

    

“This dress is another gift from my sister, believe it or not,” Erica replied, matching her tone to his, “She’ll be glad to know it’s being appreciated.”

    

“Well, yeah, I am definitely, ah,” Dustin cleared his throat. He was having a little trouble maintaining his “sexy” voice. It was adorable, really. “Appreciating. Just…um, out of curiosity, you don’t happen to be wearing any other gifts from your sister, do you?”

    

Erica shook her head impassively. “Nope. Not tonight. Actually, under the dress I’m not wearing anything at all.”

 

Dustin’s entire body froze. He stared at Erica like she’d just revealed the meaning of life. This went on for several moments and Erica wondered if she should have reviewed the symptoms of a stroke on the cab ride over. When he finally did speak again his voice was somewhat higher than normal.

    

“Hey Erica?” he said.

    

“Yes Dustin?”

    

“Do you maybe wanna get out of here?”

    

Erica pondered this request for a second before letting herself smile and slip her hand into Dustin’s.

 

“Yeah,” she replied, “I think I do.”

  
  



End file.
